


all of my youth

by ephemeralsky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coming of Age, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-High School, Slow Burn, a few minor discourses on sexuality, because what's graduation without them, no lockers were harmed in the making of this fic, subconscious pining, whatever that means
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralsky/pseuds/ephemeralsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He worries that he's become less of a Bokuto Koutarou without an Akaashi Keiji by his side. </p><p>(or: Bokuto graduates high school and strives to not grow apart from his best friend, Akaashi strikes terror into the hearts of both his juniors and seniors, Kuroo loses his cool, Konoha struggles to answer the question of why he's friends with Bokuto, and everybody gradually grows up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. backlit, against the sun

**Author's Note:**

> "Through all of youth I was looking for you  
> without knowing what I was looking for."  
> \- W.S. Merwin

**Minus Twenty-nine**

 

“Are you gonna miss me?”

Bokuto leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, a smug grin on his lips.

Akaashi wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, the black tendrils of his hair sticky with sweat.

“I think the real question is: are _you_ going to miss us?”

An affronted expression replaces the cocky one on Bokuto’s face.

“You’ve been whining about it to Onaga lately,” Akaashi continues before Bokuto can protest.

“I _trusted_ him and he _betrays_ me like this – I can’t believe my sweet Onaga-kun is capable of such things!”

Akaashi rolls his eyes. “You’ve also asked me that question hundreds of times since you retired from the club.”

“Only because you never gave me a proper answer!”

Akaashi goes to the cart and picks up a volleyball, spinning it between his hands and looking at it quietly.

Bokuto knows he’s been practicing intensively on his jump serves lately, _because the team needs a captain who’s capable of at least this_ apparently, even though Bokuto had insisted that he was formidable enough even without monster-level scary jump serves. 

Bokuto smiles to himself.

“To answer your question; yeah, I’m gonna miss you.”

Akaashi looks up at him, face impassive. He pushes himself off the wall and bumps his shoulder against Akaashi’s.

“I’m gonna miss you, I’m gonna miss the team, I’m gonna miss the gym, I’m gonna miss the lunch lady, I’m gonna miss the hallways and the classrooms, hell, I’m even gonna miss Saito-sensei!”

He takes in the view of the gym from where they’re standing, and his chest feels tight. Graduation looms ahead of him, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to say goodbye, if he even wants to say goodbye.

From beside him, Akaashi says, “I think I’ll miss you too.”

Bokuto whips his head to the side and stares wide-eyed at Akaashi, before his face breaks into a huge grin.

“Akaashi! So you finally admit your true feelings!” he laughs, slinging an arm around Akaashi.

Akaashi cringes. His voice is cold when he says, “Bokuto-san, what’s our rule?”

Bokuto stops laughing long enough to look sheepish as he pulls his arm away. “Personal space. Right. Sorry.”

“Personal space,” Akaashi says in agreement.

“Personal space,” Bokuto repeats, grinning.

Akaashi stares at him, expression unchanging, and Bokuto doesn’t really know what he’s thinking about, but that’s okay, because after a while, Akaashi deposits the ball back into the cart and invites him to walk home together, because _in a month, we won’t be able to do it anymore._

And that makes Bokuto feel sad again.

 

**Minus Fourteen**

 

“Tell me something, Akaashi.”

Bokuto leans back on his palms as they sit on the slope at the riverbank.

“Will moving out of my parents’ home and going to university make me an adult?”

Akaashi turns a page on the book he’s reading.

_The Sheltering Sky._

Probably one of those difficult books that won’t make much sense to Bokuto if he were to read it. And it’s in English too.

“Not necessarily,” Akaashi answers, eyes trained on the words spilled out over the pages.

Bokuto waits for him to continue. Akaashi always has really good answers to his questions, patiently explaining his thoughts to Bokuto and taking time to consider what to say. But not when Bokuto asks inane questions though. Not that Bokuto can tell the difference between _a_ _question so pointless that you just wasted your breath in asking it, Bokuto-san_ and a not-so-bad question.

“Does turning 18 make a person an adult? Legally, perhaps, but I think that it all depends on how you function after you leave home and start living on your own.”

Bokuto hums. “Then, what about people like you? You know, you’re so mature and stuff! Sometimes I wonder reaaaally hard about what goes on through your mind.”

A gust of wind sweeps by, arid and sharp.

Akaashi closes his book, blinking slowly.

“I think it’s better if you don’t know the things that occupy my head, Bokuto-san.”

Sitting outside on the riverbank starts to seem like a bad idea suddenly, when Bokuto is met with unfathomable dark eyes and has goosebumps crawling over his skin.

Bokuto forces out a laughter to diffuse the weirdness.

“Akaashi, you don’t have to keep secrets from me! What do I always tell you? You need to be more selfish and loosen up!”

“And I always tell you to do the opposite, but you’ve never actually listened, so that makes us even,” Akaashi rebuts dully, standing up and pulling his bag over his shoulder.

Bokuto directs his gaze upwards, at Akaashi, the muffler wrapped around his neck, the impeccable knot of his tie, the blazer that’s buttoned all the way up, the bored expression on his face.

They’re all such familiar traits.

“Let’s go home, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto smiles and hops to his feet, thinking of everlasting friendships and inscrutable books in foreign languages that he’ll never be able to understand.   

 

**Zero**

 

It’s in the exchanged glances during heated matches and palm against palm contact during high-fives; the badly stifled chuckle that can be elicited from the hushed whispers behind hands to deliver poor imitations of their reproachful coach;, the cold, hard gazes that transports the entire team to the Arctic with the promise of painful cardio and drills when they return from the exile; the barely-there smile and genuine praises and buttressed camaraderie over cheap popsicles from the konbini or piping hot ramen and oden from roadside stalls; and these are things that come out of just scraping the surface of what Bokuto _sees_ when he sees Akaashi among the crowd that is the volleyball team – _his_ team – and now, Akaashi’s team. It was official when he retired from the club and stepped down as captain, but with graduation happening right at that very moment, he knows that the transition has come to its complete cycle.

They’re squabbling over how to pose for the ultimate group picture – one last photograph before the third years leave for good – and Akaashi is just staring at the lot, exasperated, but fond.

Akaashi hasn’t been meeting his eyes the whole day.

Not that they’ve been spending a lot of time together that day. With the ceremony and tearful goodbyes and heartfelt thank yous and dozens upon dozens of pictures taken with the graduating class and his juniors, Bokuto hasn’t had the chance to talk much to Akaashi that day, but he has just the right plan to fix that. He’s been concocting it since last night, and it’ll involve just him and his most favorite friend.

Funnily enough, his phone buzzes just as he thinks that, and it’s none other than his other most favorite friend.

_Congrats on graduating. Who knew you had it in you._

Bokuto snorts.

 _i planned on congratulating you too, but you just HAD to be an asshple about it. but snce im a noce guy, ill say it anyway. congrats on graduatign kuroo!1!!_  

“Bokuto-san, stand here, next to Akaashi-san.”

Bokuto nods and bounds up to the position, bumping shoulders with Akaashi who simply rolls his eyes. The cameraman, a sister of one of the graduating club members who’s using Akaashi’s camera, tells them to say “Ball is life” and they all strike obnoxious poses. Well, most of them.

Komi is sobbing and Washio is quietly crying and Konoha is teasing them, his own voice cracking, and Bokuto collects them in one big group hug. Sarukui gives him a friendly punch in the shoulder, and that’s it. The end of Bokuto’s high school career.

They say their goodbyes and yell out promises to keep in touch, and Bokuto turns to Akaashi, who hasn’t said anything amidst all of it. His camera is hung around his neck, the cap secure over the lens. The end of the day.

“So. Graduation. Weird huh?” he jams his hands in his pockets and scuffs his shoes against the ground.

“Yes, I suppose it is weird.”

Bokuto snorts a little, then pulls at the hem of Akaashi’s blazer.

“Come with me? I wanna show you a few things.”

And Akaashi follows, not reprimanding him when he takes Akaashi’s hand and holds it a little too tightly.

“First stop: the gym!” he announces, arms spread as he twirls around a little in the middle of the empty space.

He points to one corner of the gym, grinning at Akaashi. “That’s where we met and introduced each other, and let me tell you, I’d never met a sassier kohai!”

He laughs when Akaashi gives him a flat look. “But I was so happy when you didn’t get tired of me or shout at me when I went into one of my moods. It was then that I knew that we’re a match made in volleyball heaven.” At this, he fake-swoons, pressing the back of his hand on his forehead, eyes closed as he dramatically arches his back.

Akaashi plays along and catches him, arm wrapped around his waist. “I think you mispronounced ‘hell’.”

Bokuto straightens up, gasping. “Akaashi!! How could you!”

Akaashi gives a fraction of a smile, clasping his hands behind his back. “So, where are you taking me next? Since this is only the first stop.”

Bokuto beams. “Follow me!”

Bokuto trots energetically to the locker room, where he points out the residue of the doodles on the walls that he and Komi made using permanent markers to “inscribe their legacy” before Akaashi found out and made them scrub the walls clean, then to the field, where he retells the incident on last year’s Sports Day which includes him running into several hurdles when he got too distracted trying to see if Akaashi was in the crowds to give him moral support. He continues to the library, where it’s mostly empty, and loud-whispers about the time he and Konoha got locked in because they dozed off after not completing their homework and didn’t realize that it was way past closing time and they had to call Akaashi over who, in turn, had to call one of the faculty members to let them out. They move to the main building, where the third-years’ classrooms are, and they pass by a corridor where he points out the time he brooded under the staircase near the vending machines because he had forgotten his lunch and the meagre amount of change he had was swallowed by the machine _and I couldn’t even buy myself milk, Akaashi! it was a dark time for me_ and the only reason he didn’t skip out on practice was because Akaashi went looking for him and found him still frowning and glaring at the ground near his feet.

It is a series of _Do you remember the time we did this and that_ and a stream of _Because I remember all of ‘em!_ followed by a recap of the incident, and Akaashi would either roll his eyes and make a witty comeback or hide a smile and let Bokuto rattle on, still skillfully avoiding his eyes.

They go up to the second floor and amble to Bokuto’s classroom, empty as expected, finally winding down, and Bokuto goes to his desk. _Well, it won’t be my desk after today._

It is late in the afternoon and the sunlight complements the flurry of pink raining down from the cherry blossom trees that grow on the school compound. Bokuto opens the window beside his seat, and sits on his desk, where there’s an unwashable stain of dubious origins. Akaashi stands at the doorway for a while, before he pads to where Bokuto is, setting his camera on the desk.

He leans against the window sill, looking out at the scatter of students milling about the school grounds, still taking pictures and hugging each other and saying goodbye.

“You have a great view from your seat. I don’t see why you leave this place and come to my class to eat lunch with me everyday when you could have this instead.”

Bokuto laughs, loud and amused. “Because I’d rather spend time with you, that’s why!”

Akaashi’s lips tug upwards a little, but his eyes are downcast.

Bokuto hops off the desk and stands in front of Akaashi.

“Hey ‘Kaashi, what’s wrong? Are you not enjoying yourself? Was all this a bad idea?”

Akaashi doesn’t turn his face towards Bokuto, eyes still geared towards the scenery outside, a little unfocused.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you graduating and leaving.”

This takes Bokuto by surprise.

“Particularly, I’ve been thinking about telling you.”

Bokuto cocks his head to the side. “Tell me what, Akaashi?”

Akaashi finally turns towards Bokuto, but his face is reduced to a silhouette, dark and unreadable, as he stands backlit against the sun, and he says, “I like you, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s heart might have skipped a beat or two.

“You know that I like you too Aka –”

“No, Bokuto-san. I _like_ you.”

Bokuto wonders how someone can confess their feelings with such an unaffected voice, without any hint of shyness or anxiety.

“A–akaashi, are you… confessing? To me?”

“Yes.”

Bokuto curses the sunlight, because he can’t _see_ Akaashi’s face and the expression he’s making as he’s saying all this.

“It’s not the first confession that you’ve received today, is it?”

Bokuto’s eyebrows scrunch together. He can’t say anything to that, because it’s true.

“But I’ll make this clear: I am not asking you out.”

Stillness clings to the air, and a frown quickly captures Bokuto’s face.

“You’re not?”

A sigh.

“You’ll be leaving for college, and you’ll meet many people and experience a lot of new, different things.” Finally, there is a faltering to Akaashi’s calm tone, “The possibility of us drifting apart is high.”

“I still don’t get what this all means,” Bokuto says, starting to get frustrated.

“It means, Bokuto-san, that I am telling you my feelings so that I wouldn’t regret not doing it. In this time, during this moment, where we are still close and when I exist at the forefront of your mind, I’ve told you that I like you, and I’m hoping that by doing so, I’d be able to feel less agitated with myself.”

That was one of the rare occurrences where Akaashi speaks so much at once, and Bokuto is annoyed that it’s over something that he _still can’t understand_.   

“So you like me, but don’t wanna go out with me?”  

Akaashi’s face is slanted towards the window once more, and the sunlight cascades across the slope of his nose and his cheekbones.

“You’ve always told me to be more selfish.”

Bokuto directs his frown towards his feet. He opens his mouth to say something, but Akaashi beats him to it.

“Bokuto-san, I’m not expecting an answer – or anything else – from you.”

A finger taps he underside of his chin, and Bokuto looks up in time to catch Akaashi’s brief smile.

“So don’t worry about it.”

Akaashi moves away from him, walking past him, and Bokuto stares at the empty space where Akaashi just stood, not turning away even when the sunlight begins to sting his eyes.

 

**Four**

 

Bokuto hasn’t been able to get a good night’s sleep since graduation day.

His family helps him in his move to the university dormitories – well, his sister and aunt anyway –his sister leaving him a few of her favorite manga series on his book shelf and his aunt reminding him how to run the washing machine. His father thumps him on the back, once, before he left for work that morning and doesn’t impart any wisdom, but Bokuto feels the weight of his gaze, the heaviness of the words unspoken. He still has a few days left before the semester starts.

He falls stomach-first onto the bed, a few boxes yet to be unpacked left scattered around the room, and he closes his eyes against the sunlight filtering weakly through the gap between the shutters, his body leaden with fatigue over the whole business of moving out and starting anew as a college student.

Speaking of which –

_You’ll be leaving for college, the possibility of us drifting apart is high._

Bokuto, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why Akaashi said what he said and did what he did.

Don’t people usually confess and ask to go out with the ones that are confessed to? He should know, because he’s read all the shoujo manga that his sister has. Plus, he’s received a ton of confessions from a bunch of people because he’s the ace of the volleyball team and _he’s so cool!_ but that’s besides the point. Why is Akaashi so sure that he and Bokuto are going to fall apart? Does he _want_ them to grow estranged? Is he getting tired of Bokuto and wants to use this chance to cut off their ties?

_What kind of face was he making when he told me his feelings?_

Bokuto rolls over and stares at the ceiling, an odd feeling in his chest when he doesn’t see the animal stickers that he has in his own bedroom back home.

But Akaashi _did_ text him yesterday, asking how the moving process is going and whether he’s settling in well, so it doesn’t seem to indicate that Akaashi wants to cut Bokuto out of his life. The fact that Akaashi texted him _first_ was already a good indication in itself.

And yet –

He hasn’t been able to bring himself to reply to any of them.

He feels bad about it, but he’s just… extremely confused.

_kuroooooooooooooo_

He types into the text box instead, and hits the send button.

_What’s up my buddy my guy_

Bokuto bites his lower lip, and begins typing out a lengthy explanation of the events that have transpired, only to delete everything and send Kuroo an invitation to hang out later that evening.

 

**Still Four**

 

“Wait. Let me get this right. Akaashi Keiji. Akaashi I-Don't-Care-Bambi’s-Mom-Died Keiji. Confessed his romantic feelings. For you.”

“Yes, Kuroo, for the gajillionth time, yes, that’s what happened.”

Kuroo gives a low whistle.

“And here I thought you’d be the one…” he mumbles as he brings his can of soda to his mouth.

“I’d be the one to what?” Bokuto asks, jumping off the ground to make a grab for the monkey bars above him.

“Nothing,” Kuroo sets his drink down and stands up, patting dust of his pants before he hops up on one of the swings. “So what did you say?”

Bokuto swings from one bar to the next and lands on the ground with a grunt.

“I didn’t. He… Akaashi didn’t really ask me to date him.” His eyebrows draw together as he glares at the grass underneath him.

Kuroo stops swaying, grabbing onto the chains. “He didn’t?”

Bokuto shakes his head as he climbs up on the swing seat next to Kuroo, rocking his body back and forth indignantly.

“And your predicament is what exactly?” Kuroo asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, isn’t it weird! Why would he tell me that he like-likes me when he doesn’t even want to date me? And why _wouldn’t_ he want to date me! I’m a great catch! Lots of people want to date me!”

“Alright hot stuff, I get it, you’re a total ladies’ man.” Bokuto ignores the sarcasm in Kuroo’s response. Kuroo hums a little before he says, “I don’t know, maybe it’s his way of getting over you?”

Bokuto falls off the swing and onto his ass.

Kuroo shrugs, “I’m just taking a guess though. Maybe it’s just as he said it – you leaving for college is a great chance for him to confess without any real risk of rejection and for him to start –” Kuroo waves his hand around as he tries to think of a suitable word, “- afresh.”

The truth is, Bokuto isn’t angry at Akaashi for saying something that changes the entire basis of their friendship more than he’s upset over the fact that he feels like _he’s_ the one who’s been rejected because Akaashi, his best friend, doesn’t want to date him despite harboring romantic feelings for him. And that’s at the crux of all his confusion and uneasiness, because what Akaashi says does hold some – a lot – of truth. Akaashi has always been right about almost everything and Bokuto trusts him with his life, and it’s – it’s scary. It’s scary that they could drift apart and that spot where they’ve been a part of each other’s lives would soon fade away as time goes by and Akaashi would meet someone else to fall in love with and _Bokuto-san_ wouldn’t be someone or something that he has to worry about any longer. And where would that place Bokuto? How is he going to finish his homework without someone monitoring him and promising him ice cream if he _at least axe that paragraph about how basketball doesn’t hold a candle to volleyball in a history paper and replace it with an actual conclusion about the Sengoku war_? How is he going to decide which pair of sneakers to buy _because if you look closely these ones have aglets that glow in the dark but the other pair have shoelaces made out of sheephair!_ How is he going to remember what he ate for last night’s dinner or where to find that super hilarious meme he discovered but now buried under all the other memes he found and he hasn’t even given the link to the rest of the team _this is a crisis, Akaashi!!_ What is he going to tell his sister when she asks if _the really cool and patient Akaashi-san will be coming over this weekend_ and help her with her biology homework? Whose picture will he use for his home screen? Who’s he going to call in the middle of the night when he’s overthinking miscellaneous things or when he’s feeling really low and wishes to disappear? Who’s going to –

“Bokuto, why do you look like you’re on the verge of tears and a meltdown?”

“No one’s gonna help me find dank memes again!!”

“Dude, stop shaking me and let go of my shoulders!”

 Bokuto releases Kuroo to pull the roots of his hair as he wails in agony. “How can he do this to me!”

“Dude, shh, you’re gonna wake the whole neighborhood up!”

An upbeat pop song cuts through the air and through Bokuto’s wailing, and the two of them fall silent as they let the music blare from Bokuto’s pants.

Bokuto sniffs, taking out his phone from his pocket. He stares, sullen, at the device on his palm.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Kuroo peeks at the caller ID, an eyebrow lifted.

Bokuto slides the phone back into his pocket. “No. I wouldn’t know what to say,” he says with a disgruntled huff.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Even though you were weeping about it a couple of seconds ago?”

“I’m a complicated man. Let me live.”

“’Complicated’ is the last thing I’d use to refer to a simpleton, but okay.”

Bokuto makes growling noises at Kuroo.

“Down, boy. Don’t make me force you to sleep on the floor tonight.” Kuroo tips his head in the direction of his house. “Come on, you’re sleeping over right?”

Bokuto deflates, shoulders sagging as he makes a noise of affirmation.

Kuroo ruffles his hair. “Be strong, buddy.”

 

**Thirteen**

 

Bokuto is suffering. He feels tortured. Antagonized. Pained.

His face twists in agony, the muscles in his arms and hands tense.

He glares at the offending object lying on the table.

His phone.

His fingers won’t stop twitching, and he has to reel his hands back so they won’t make a grab for the phone and dial Akaashi’s number or shoot him countless texts to tell him about his day.

The screen lights up to notify him of a new message, taunting him.

_Son of a bitch. I will fight you._

He knows it’s not from Akaashi, and he resents his phone and himself for letting this happen. For unnecessarily dragging on the… quarrel? He’s not even sure if it can be called a fight, when Akaashi had been trying to communicate with him as usual, as how it was before the confession, but he’d been the one to not pick up any of the calls or answer the texts. And after a while, the calls and messages stop coming in altogether.

He misses Akaashi.

It’s as simple as that.    

He misses Akaashi, but he doesn’t want to see him, or talk to him.

And that makes it not so simple.

He hates it when things aren’t simple.

Akaashi is an enigma.

That’s what Kuroo had once said, and Sarukui too, on more than one occasion.   

Sometimes he thinks that he understands Akaashi, that he knows him very well. They’re best friends, after all. But then, things like this happen – things that make him frown and feel unsettled and think too hard – and suddenly, Akaashi seems so far away, unsolvable, a stranger.

He knows how it goes. A person confesses. It’s usually a girl from a different class or a different year. Sometimes it’s a guy. She’d blush as she says her name and tells him of how she fell for him – she saw one of their matches, and she thought he was dashing and amazing. At first, Bokuto readily agreed to go out with them. He didn’t want to reject and hurt them, and it made him feel great about himself to be able to date a person who told him they loved him. But then he started to see a pattern. They all broke up with him soon after they started dating, and everything they said during the confession was retracted. They were mistaken, they didn’t expect him to be like _this_ , they all said sorry – but Bokuto has always wondered if they were sorry for themselves or for him. It was okay, because even though he felt a little dejected each time, he usually bounced right back up. He wasn’t attached to them after all. He didn’t have the chance or time to be. Then, at the advice of Kuroo and Shirofuku, he stopped accepting date requests and started rejecting his suitors. He doesn’t remember if Akaashi ever said anything about him going out so casually with other people or if Akaashi reacted in a certain way when he stopped. He doesn’t remember.   

With a groan, he opens up the text he just received, and finds out that Konoha is inviting him out for an excursion. Komi has found a job in a different prefecture, and Konoha himself is moving to Osaka, so he’s rounding up the guys from the team for a farewell party of sorts. Of course, they’re going to visit Fukurodani first because obviously they have to terrorize the newbies a little before dragging the second and third year members with them for the party. Of course.

It sounds like something that is produced by Bokuto’s brain, and he worries that he’s become less of a Bokuto Koutarou without an Akaashi Keiji by his side.

He sends Konoha a text saying that he’s hyped for the plan, even though it feels like a lie.

 

**Sixteen**

 

“Hey hey hey!”

The greeting falls a bit on the enervated side, but they’re all wearing grins on their faces and Bokuto blinks, a little surprised, before breaking into a huge grin of his own.

“Hey hey hey!!” he shouts, exuberant enough for all of them, pulling Konoha, Komi, and Sarukui into a group hug.

After they’ve untangled themselves, Washio arrives, and Bokuto gives him a bone-crushing hug too, and he hasn’t realized up until then just how much he’s missed them.

They walk from the train station to Fukurodani Academy together, Sarukui telling them how weird it feels to be working and earning his own money, and Komi agrees, saying that he can’t believe that he’s actually moving out of his family home to a city that he’s never been to before. Washio admits that college is so much different from what he’d been expecting, but he’s glad that he’s in a school that’s not too far away from home, just like Bokuto is. Isn’t that nice, Bokuto, Konoha says, you can visit Akaashi whenever you want, he teases, because he knows that parting ways with your best friend can be tough, he smiles a little sadly, nudging Komi in the ribs. 

Haha yeah, Bokuto says weakly. The others exchange questioning glances behind his back, but don’t ask him anything.

They reach the school gates and a bead of sweat trickles down the side of Bokuto’s face. Weird. It’s a pretty cool day, but he’s sweating as if he just ran twenty laps around the gym.

It’s a Sunday, which means that the volleyball club would have practice all morning until noon. Bokuto used to stop by Akaashi’s place after practice ended on Sundays and they’d do their homework together. Sometimes Bokuto would treat him to crepes on the way back.

They round the corner and the gym comes to sight, and Bokuto’s clothes are _drenched_. To make things worse, his heart is beating so hard and so fast that he swears it’s going to break out of his chest. He’s surprised that Konoha hasn’t made fun of him because of how loud it is.

It’s been two weeks since he last saw or talked to Akaashi. In hindsight, this outing is both a terrible and brilliant idea.  

Suzumeda notices them when she goes out of the gym to refill a couple of water bottles, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that Konoha immediately picks up his pace to walk up to her.

“This is a surprise,” she says, smiling nonetheless, “They just finished cooling down, so you guys are just in time.”

No one really notices them until a stray ball rolls towards Sarukui’s feet and Onaga comes running to retrieve it. Onaga’s surprised expression is almost comical, and Sarukui picks up the ball and passes it to his underclassman.

“Good to see you guys so focused during practice.”

“Yeah, so focused that none of you have noticed our presence. Talk about rude!” Komi adds, chuckling.

Onaga laughs, a little nervously, like he always does when he’s around his upperclassmen, and Suzumeda joins in on the circle, the coach and advisor in tow.

It soon attracts the attention of the other second and third years, and they all gather to greet their predecessors, which is a cue for Konoha and Komi to pester them into introducing the new club members.

“By the way,” Suzumeda points a finger towards Washio’s general direction, “What’s that behind you?”

Bokuto bristles, and jumps out from behind Washio, “Suzumeda, it’s me!”

“Ah, really. I couldn’t have ever guessed, with how your owl hair was sticking out like bushes from Washio’s shoulders,” she replies drily. But then she smiles, “Why are you hiding? Go over there and talk to your juniors,” she nudges her chin over her shoulder, and Bokuto tentatively follows the line of direction with his eyes.

Akaashi is at the other side of the gym, talking with the new ace, a second-year who had been under Bokuto’s wing, who’d been promoted to a regular after being in the second string for his entire freshman year.

Akaashi is telling him something that has his whole face lighting up, and Bokuto recognizes that expression very well, but what he doesn’t recognize is the way Akaashi reaches up to pat Ace-kun on the head, once, the way Akaashi gives him a small but openly fond smile when he bows and runs off to join the others in cleaning up, and the way Akaashi’s expression goes stiff when he finally sees Bokuto.

The expression turns stone cold before Akaashi turns away.

“Sakurai is amazing,” Suzumeda says, thinking that Bokuto was assessing the new ace, “He’s almost at your level of strength now, and he works well with Akaashi too.”

Bokuto watches as Akaashi rescues three freshmen from being interrogated by Konoha and Komi, before announcing to the rest of the club members to stop idling just because they have unexpected guests and finish with the clean-up lest they want an extra ten laps during the next practice. Everyone scuttles away, knowing too well that their captain doesn’t make empty threats.

“And you two,” Akaashi says sharply, turning to face Konoha and Komi, who are looking a little pale themselves. “Stop terrorizing my team members.”

“Great to see you doing so well, Akaashi!” Konoha says instead, clapping Akaashi on the shoulder.

“Yeah, the kids are completely terrified,” Komi laughs, reaching out to tousle Akaashi’s hair, like old times.   

Akaashi sighs as he bends down a little, for Komi’s sake, “And may I ask what all of you are doing here?”

“Paying you a visit, obviously!”

“Obviously,” Sarukui agrees, bobbing his head.

“Obviously,” Akaashi states, impassive.

“Go change and lock up and do whatever you need to do. We’ll tell you the plan afterwards,” Konoha steers him out of the gym, and Akaashi lets him, knowing that it’s better to go along with it.

“You too, Onaga!” Konoha shouts over his shoulder.

“Eh?”

Washio gives him a look of sympathy before leaving with the others. Only Bokuto remains, all words dying on his tongue. The nets are rolled up and the volleyball carts are wheeled away, stored in the equipment room. All the other members take their leave.

“Bokuto-san, you’re not going with the others? I have to lock up.”

Bokuto sucks in a deep breath before grinning, “It’s fine! I’ll just wait for you!”

“Okay?” They go outside and Onaga switches to his outdoor shoes. He locks the gym doors, and clears his throat, “I don’t mean to sound rude, but I thought that you’d be the one to, uh, to drag Akaashi-senpai away.”

_You and me both, buddy._

A crease forms between Bokuto’s eyebrows. “’Akaashi-senpai’?” It’s usually ‘Akaashi-san’.

Onaga scratches his nose. “Uh, yeah. I started calling him ‘senpai’ ever since the incident with the basketball club the other day.”

The wrinkle deepens. “What incident?”

“Ah, Akaashi-senpai didn’t tell you? Well, you know that there’s always been bad blood between us and the basketball guys, but this year they brought up the issue with the use of the gym again, even though it was settled years ago. Um, I think it was –”

“It was before even I joined the team.”

“Yes. But they brought it up again because they claimed that with you gone, our team won’t hold up to the title of champions anymore, and they demanded our club’s privileges be handed over to them instead.”

Onaga’s habitual look of sheepishness is chased away when his expression darkens. “They were very rude to Akaashi-senpai.”  

A flash of anger tears across Bokuto’s chest. With his heart pounding against his ears, he asks, “Then what happened?”

“Their complaints weren’t even official and they didn’t bring it up with the school, so Akaashi-senpai decided to settle it between the team captains.” Onaga smiles then, a look of utter admiration claiming his face. “He was very cool when he told them off.”

Bokuto’s gaze falls to the ground as a tiny smile makes its way to his lips. “I’m sure he was.”

All of them regroup and head to the city, Bokuto lagging behind a little as he watches Akaashi walk alongside Sarukui, how he fiddles with his hands and throws in smart quips and forms little smirks that he doesn’t try to hide.

Suzumeda is talking about her recruitment of a second manager, and Washio tells them that Shirofuku is sorry for not being able to join them.

How’s she doing? Sarukui asks, does she like Kyushu?

Eh, Yukie-chan texted you?! Komi interrupts, and Konoha laughs at him.

They have lunch and Bokuto sits in the middle of the table, wedged between Onaga and Washio, and Akaashi doesn’t even glance his way from where he’s seated across him.

They all draw straws and Bokuto and Washio end up paying for the meal. They’re making their way to a karaoke center when Bokuto decides that he can’t take it anymore.

He tugs at the hem of Akaashi’s sports jacket, and Akaashi stops in his tracks.

“What is it,” he asks, not turning around.

“I want to talk to you.”

“The others are going to leave us behind.”

Komi notices that they’re not with group though, and calls out to them through the sea of people.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Let’s get going!”

“It’s nothing,” Akaashi says, loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“It’s something!” Bokuto hollers, “Akaashi and I need to talk for a bit! Catch you later?”

Komi tips his head to the side, but shrugs and nods. “I’ll tell the others!”

A sigh leaves Akaashi’s lips. Bokuto is still clutching his jacket, the fabric scrunched in his white-knuckled grip.

“Akaashi, please?”

“Fine.”

Akaashi starts walking again, leading them to a quieter place. Bokuto doesn’t let go.

 

**Still Sixteen**

 

Akaashi brings them to a community square with a fountain in the middle. The bright glare of the sun reflected by the water hurts Bokuto’s eyes, but he takes a seat beside Akaashi on the edge of the fountain without complaint. He finally releases Akaashi’s jacket.

There are people on the benches around the compound and on the grass area, and the spring weather has them in a jovial mood, passing comestible and sharing laughter, even as the sun begins to dip low into the horizon, the light bouncing off the foliage of the trees and window panes and building eaves in bursts of orange. 

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, but that’s to be expected. He’s mad at Bokuto. Probably. Definitely.

Akaashi’s anger is calm and dangerous. He doesn’t get angry very often, but he gets irritated easily. He just. Doesn’t let it show. Aside from the pretty scowls and twitching brows. Bokuto wishes Akaashi would voice his dissatisfaction more clearly, rather than the usual piercing gazes and the cold shoulder. And when he’s hurt, he falls mute, and Bokuto never knows what to do.

“You never told me about the fight with the basketball guys.”

Akaashi sits with his back upright and hands resting neatly on his lap. Usually he fiddles with his fingers if he’s not holding anything. He’s still not saying a word.

“You should’ve told me! I would’ve dashed over and beat them into a pulp!”

Bokuto flexes his arms and flashes a promising grin, but the false enthusiasm collapses when Akaashi doesn’t even turn to look at him.

“Onaga said that they were rude to you. Whatever it is that they said, don’t pay attention to it okay! I mean, those jerks don’t even know you!”

“And you do?”

The words are biting, and they are meant to hurt. And they do.

Akaashi looks at Bokuto, eyes sharp and icy.

Bokuto’s heart thumps achingly against his ribcage and his eyes skitter away. He gulps and frowns and searches for the right words to say.

“Akaashi, we’re still friends,” he says, desperate.

Akaashi’s expression remains callous.

“Is that what we are? I thought friends are supposed to answer your calls and reply to your texts.”

“It’s because I was confused!” with his fists clenched, blunt nails digging into his palms, Bokuto stands up. “You c–confessed to me, and you said all those confusing things, and I just got super conflicted!” he realizes that he sounds angry in a petulant way, like a child trying to shift the blame to somebody else.

This time it’s Akaashi who frowns, eyebrows drawn together over the delicate ridge of his nose, but his eyes and voice remain steely.

“I never asked you to think about it.”

“I can’t help it okay! You’re not just some random girl who called me out into the courtyard to confess. You’re Akaashi, and you’re – you’re my friend! You mean a lot to me! How could I _not_ think about it!”

With his breathing ragged, Bokuto stares intensely at Akaashi, and watches as his cold expression incrementally melts away into something softer. Bokuto feels himself growing calmer too, just from seeing Akaashi’s mellowed demeanor. He plops down again beside Akaashi, hands shoved between his legs.

“People are staring.”

Bokuto starts. “Really?!” He glances around, and true enough, the people sitting nearby are throwing inquisitive looks in their direction.

“My bad. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

Akaashi lets out a soft, exasperated chuckle.

Bokuto is weak, so he laughs too.

“I’m not going to apologize,” Akaashi says, facing forward, staring at nothing. “I… don’t regret it.”

 _It._ The confession.

Bokuto shakes his head. “It’s not like I’m expecting you to say sorry. It’s just…”

“Confusing?”

“Confusing,” Bokuto confirms. 

A smile flickers onto Akaashi’s lips, wry. “But we’re still friends.”

It sounds almost like a question, a challenge to Bokuto’s previous assertion.

Bokuto whips his head to the side and exclaims, “Of course we are!!” He’s taken both of Akaashi’s hands in his, face determined as he leans in close. Ardently, he continues, “The bestest of friends!!”

Akaashi automatically leans backwards, poker-faced. “What’s our rule, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto backs away, but is slow to relinquish his hold. Akaashi’s hands are cold.

“Personal space. Right.”

“Personal space.”

There is a smile present in Akaashi’s words.

“Personal space,” Bokuto parrots, grin on his lips. Akaashi lets his hands linger.

 

**Thirty-one**

 

“Bokuto, how many times have I told you? You’re jumping way too close to the net.”

“But that was the only way I could get the spike in!”

His teammate sighs, shaking his head. “Next time you do that I won’t toss to you.” He turns away, grumbling about _pugnacious first-years_ and _the utter arrogance of them!_

Bokuto pouts. Akaashi would’ve totally let that slide. He would’ve totally found a way to accommodate Bokuto’s rationale and skills. He would’ve totally given Bokuto a _That wasn’t too sloppy, Bokuto-san_ and encouraged him.

The pout grows bigger. He wishes Akaashi could always remain his setter, not some snobbish second-year who won’t even stay back for five extra minutes after practice with Bokuto.

College sucks. He has to start all over again, even though the team knows that he used to be the top five aces in the country. He garners the same judgmental eyes and the hostile twist of lips that he got when he first joined the team in middle and high school. He thought he’d never have to deal with them again, but he’d forgotten that his current team is not comprised of the same people he worked with and led in high school, the people who took his eccentricities in stride and figured out ways to support him, win with him, to make the team whole and operate at their best.   

He stomps to the bench and rummages around for a towel, only to realize he’s forgotten to pack one with him.

“Akaashi, can you lend me a towel?”

He looks over to the side and sees two of the team members laughing over something on their phones.

The air is stifling. He raises the collar of his shirt over his face to wipe the sweat off. He takes his water bottle and goes outside to sit on the grass, knees drawn up against his chest.

It’s almost dusk, the sky an amalgam of lilac and crimson. The wind feels cool against his hot and sweaty skin.

It feels too quiet.

 

**Forty-three**

 

Akaashi’s hair has grown longer, given the hairclips that are tucked neatly in his hair, keeping his bangs from falling into his eyes as he works on his assignments.

Saturdays mean half-day of classes and no volleyball practice for the Fukurodani team, and Akaashi usually spends the evenings completing his homework. Bokuto spends them trying to acquire Akaashi’s attention and to not sulk when he consequently gets scolded. Right now, he’s in the process of keeping up with that tradition, hanging off of Akaashi’s shoulders and whining about contracting the disease known as boredom.

Akaashi continues writing log equations, unperturbed.

“Okay okay, how about this: you go out with me to get crepes, and I’ll give you a haircut. _For free_. Think about that!”

“Just because you always do it for Kuroo-san and your sister does not mean that _I_ trust you with my hair.”

“But you always compliment my sister on her hair!”

“But I’ve never complimented Kuroo-san on _his_ hair.”

“He’s a lost cause, you know that! You can’t blame that disaster on his head on me!”

Akaashi sighs. That could either mean victory or another reprimand for Bokuto.

“Alright. We’ll go out for crepes, but only after I finish my math homework.”

“And I get to cut your hair?”

“Yes, you’ll get to do that too.”

Bokuto whoops and dances around the room before jumping on Akaashi’s bed, his legs folded under him, fists pressed to his knees, buzzing with anticipation.

He could never even begin to understand why Akaashi would ever think that they’re going to drift apart.

Akaashi does as he promised and they go out to the pastry shop down the street to buy crepes, Bokuto’s treat _because I’m a great senpai!_ On the way out, Akaashi’s mother reminds them not to eat too much so they’d have room for dinner. Bokuto thinks she should know better, because Akaashi’s metabolism rate is some next level shit.  

It’s a nice day and Akaashi is wearing a thin black cardigan that contrasts spectacularly against his white skin but goes nicely with his shock of obsidian hair. The locks of hair that curl at the ends have always tempted Bokuto to run his hands through them, and right now, the increase in length has the black strands licking the collar of Akaashi’s cardigan. Bokuto wants to sweep them away to reveal that column of skin at the back of his neck.

He thinks he might’ve dated a girl with wavy black hair once. He remembers her because she shares a superficial similarity to his favorite kohai, fair complexion against dark hair. She had called him ‘Bokuto-san’ too, but in a sugary voice, one that he’s not used to hearing. He remembers her. He wants to know what Akaashi had been thinking as Bokuto went through all those brief relationships and abrupt breakups.  

When they return, stomachs happy with the treat of sweets, Akaashi puts a stool out in the patio and his mother finds him a towel to put over his shoulders. The blades of the scissors in Bokuto’s hand gleam and Akaashi looks like he’s having stomach cramps.

Bokuto rolls his sleeves up past his elbows and breaks into a grin.

“Relax! Don’t you have any faith in me?”

“No.”

“ _Akaashi_!!”

They descend into silence when the first snip is heard, and the wired knots in Akaashi’s shoulders disentangle, a quiet breath of exhale is released.

Akaashi’s hair weighs soft and stays curled between Bokuto’s fingers, and the black strands are just how Bokuto always imagined them to feel. He almost feels bad for having to cut them.

A frown of concentration takes hold of Bokuto’s face, tongue poking out at the side of his mouth as the scissor blades slide along a canvas as dark as night. The severed quills drop onto the floor in clumps, and Bokuto would feel sorry for them if not for the view of Akaashi’s nape. There is a beauty mark dotting the base of his neck, one that Bokuto has never noticed before.

He shuffles to work on the front side. Akaashi meets his gaze, the afternoon light skimming off his thick eyelashes as he blinks slowly. They’re so close that Bokuto can hear him breathing.

Bokuto gulps. He can’t seem to think about anything as he moves his hands again, trimming Akaashi’s fringe, breathing carefully himself.

It’s quiet except for the _snip snip_ of the scissors and Akaashi’s soft breathing.

When he flicks his gaze downward, he finds that Akaashi has his eyes closed, and suddenly all Bokuto can hear is the _thump thump_ of his racing heart. He snaps his gaze back up and focuses on finishing his job. He doesn’t comment on the redness of Akaashi’s ears.

“There! All done!”

He brushes any remaining strands off Akaashi’s shoulders and neck, taking care to keep his movements utilitarian.

Akaashi looks at the mirror on the wall by the staircase, expression stoic, pinching a tress of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucking it behind an ear.

“Hmm. Not bad, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto feels so ecstatic that he volunteers to clean up.

He doesn’t tell Akaashi that he wishes he was Komi so that he had a solid reason to freely ruffle Akaashi’s hair.

 

**Fifty-seven**

 

It was a mistake on his part.

He had blurted out his thoughts, and now Akaashi is looking at him with steady, unblinking eyes. He only hopes that it won’t turn into a scowl.

Each time he comes over on Saturdays, the same thoughts drift around his mind and bump against his skull repeatedly, begging to be attended to.

_When did Akaashi start liking me? What does he think of my casual dating phase?  Did it ever bother him that I was seeing other people?_

“A-akaashi…?”

Akaashi seems to snap out of whatever thought that ensnared him, and finally he blinks, pulling his gaze away.

“I’m not certain. I don’t think I remember.”

“Oh.”

This…makes Bokuto feel disappointed somehow. Maybe Kuroo was right; after the confession, Akaashi began to get over his feelings for Bokuto, which is why he can’t recall these things.

Bokuto tries not to let it show. He shifts a little, picking up his pencil and burning holes into his textbook, head hung low.

But Akaashi notices. Of course he does. He _always_ does. 

Bokuto’s ears perk up when he hears a shaky exhale.

“It was the first practice match after I became the vice-captain. It was against Ubugawa’s team. And I was… uncharacteristically nervous.”

Bokuto frowns. “You _never_ get nervous. You’re like – super chill! The definition of chill! The master of –”

“Do you want me to tell you this or not?”

“Sorry.”

Akaashi sighs. He’s been doing that a lot more often.

“I was nervous, but I hid it. I suppose you could say that I’m good at hiding any feelings of anxiety.” A small humorless smile. “I ended up losing focus, and I didn’t notice when a ball came my way.”

Bokuto shudders. Ubugawa’s serves and spikes are not something to be trifled with.

“But the ball never hit me, because… because you took the hit for me.”

Ah. Bokuto remembers now. It was the first game they had since the third years retired, so he was just freshly appointed as captain. He remembers receiving a spike to the face and going home with a massive headache. Hm, it might have been a concussion. He can’t recall the exact details.

“You fell to the floor and your nose was bleeding, but the first thing you did when you opened your eyes was to give me a thumbs up. You grinned and said ‘No need to thank me, I’m just –’”

“’– your regular hero!’” Bokuto interjects, “Ohoho! So that’s when you fell for m –”

“I thought you were an idiot.”

Bokuto wilts, mumbling, “But that was such a cool thing to say.”

“But I was grateful. And I –”

Akaashi pauses, staring off into somewhere again, mouth half open.

Bokuto waits for him to continue, but when he looks closely, he notices that Akaashi’s ears are dyed in scarlet.

A flash of heat burns across his own face. He laughs, loud and strained.

Akaashi presses his lips together and clears his throat.

“I m-must’ve looked so cool! So cool that you fell for me huh!”

Akaashi, having recovered himself, gives Bokuto a pointed look.

“You had blood all over your teeth.”

“Still! I saved you!”

Akaashi doesn’t come up with a retort. Instead, the corners of his mouth curve upwards, just a little.

“You did.”

The admission takes Bokuto by surprise, and he falls quiet. He feels that Akaashi isn’t referring to the incident specifically. He never should’ve asked.

With a small sigh, Akaashi returns to his work, aloof expression back in place. “If we’re done with this conversation, I’d like to finish my homework now. You should do yours as well.”

Bokuto does as Akaashi says. He realizes, belatedly, that Akaashi only answered one part of his question. He doesn’t swing by when Saturday comes again.

 

 


	2. cobbled pavements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought dehydrations are for bears?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an unexpectedly fast update. the next chapter won't be up until a while, because my summer courses are killing me

**Seventy-two**

 

Bokuto swings the bat, his torso twisting in the full-force of the motion. He misses spectacularly.

“Man, what a waste of upper body strength.”

“Shuddup!”

“How is it that you can even spike a volleyball when you have such bad aim?”

“The ball is too small in baseball! How can I ever hit something so tiny!”

“So why do we keep coming here to hang out?”

Bokuto thinks of a response as Kuroo gets a clean hit.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Kuroo wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, satisfied with his feat.

“Me neither. But it’s something that I can kick your ass at, so I’m not complaining.”

Bokuto throws his metal bat to the ground. “Ugh, that’s it! I’m done with this! Who cares about baseball anyway!”

Kuroo throws him a sneer. “This just in: college student sticks to his 5-year old mentality and throws a tantrum at the batting cage.”

Bokuto aims a slug at Kuroo’s arm but his friend evades it easily, and they end up chasing each other around the batting center, exchanging taunts and trying not to knock into anything.

Exhausted, they buy themselves some snacks and drinks from the konbini next door and sit by the curb, night already cloaking the sky.

“So, tell me about your team.”

Bokuto groans, cracking open his second can of soda.

“The captain and seniors are okay, but for now I have to work with the first and second years. Most of them are pretty cool, but the setter – ugh! Talk about a pain in the butt! He’s not even the official setter!”

Kuroo chortles, “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”

“I’m serious! He’s awful!”

Kuroo’s grin slackens a little, but his eyes are riveted onto Bokuto, analyzing him.

“Not everyone can be Akaashi,” he says against the rim of his can.

Bokuto flinches at this. “I- I know that,” he mutters, stuffing his mouth with a handful of chips.

“You do, huh? That’s good to know.” Kuroo makes a grab for some of the chips before Bokuto finishes them all. “It means that you know that you can’t compare people you just met with the people you already know.”

“I said I get it!” Bokuto says through a mouthful, spewing out half-chewed particles.

Kuroo throws a hand up in defense. “Okay okay, just sayin’. Anyway, how is he? Why isn’t he here today? Don’t tell me you made him angry again or something.”

“Hey! I didn’t do anything!” At Kuroo’s raised eyebrow, Bokuto looks away. “I mean, not really…”

“Elaborate.”

“Really, it’s nothing. I text him everyday, and I call him when I feel like talking to him.”

“But you haven’t seen him recently?”

“I have!” Bokuto snaps, wiping his hands on his shirt, before he realizes what he just did and automatically prepares for the _That’s unsanitary, Bokuto-san_ and for his hands to be taken in by slightly bigger ones to be cleaned using moist toilettes. None of these things happen, and he wants to smack himself.

“I saw him yesterday and brought him some onigiri that my sister made.” As an unspoken apology. He had felt bad about not showing up to Akaashi’s place the week before, making up some crappy excuse about having the flu and panicking when Akaashi offered to come over to check up on him, and he prevented that from happening by insisting that it’s not worth the 1-hour train ride. He could hear and feel the suspicion in the five words Akaashi sent: _Fine then. If you insist._

And when he dropped by unannounced yesterday, Akaashi was on his way out, something about meeting the Karasuno captain for one of their film projects or whatever. He only had time to hand the onigiri and lie about how he’s all better now. Bokuto’s not disappointed or anything. He’s cool that way. It’s whatever. Akaashi can hang out with that sleepy-eyed kid for all he cares. It’s fine.

Kuroo side-eyes him, an amused grin hanging off his face.

“Well, if you say everything’s fine, I’ll take your word for it.”

As an afterthought, he adds, “Just don’t make it weird.”

Ah, Bokuto thinks, he must be referring to the confession.

Don’t make it weird. Too bad he already did when he ran his mouth and asked all those questions. Now he can’t even fathom sitting in an enclosed space with Akaashi, just the two of them, without the risk of asking even more thoughtless questions. Which brings him to try out different tactics in order to maintain their friendship. Maybe, instead of hanging out in Akaashi’s room, they could go to the park, or to the movies. But then again, Akaashi would want to spend his Saturdays doing homework, so maybe they could migrate to the library. Bokuto can make that sacrifice. Yeah, that sounds like a better alternative than sitting alone in closed quarters where the risk of creating awkward situations is off the roof. It’s too bad, because Akaashi has only been to his dorm room once, and he had been looking forward to more of Akaashi’s visits, but now he has to reconsider that too.

“Hello, anyone home?” Kuroo waves a hand in front of Bokuto’s face. “You haven’t said anything in the past ten minutes. Are you still with me?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah, yeah sure, that sounds like a great idea.”

Kuroo tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“Hey, did you get meat buns?”

“No? Why, you want me to buy you some?”

Bokuto opens his mouth to say yes, but stops himself. When he stops by the konbini with Akaashi for a quick snack on the way home after a long evening of practice, Akaashi would be the one to buy a steaming hot meat bun and split it in half with Bokuto. It’s not something that he wants to do with other people, he realizes, other than Akaashi. The urge to smack himself returns.

“Never mind!” he says, leaping up to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere else! I’m getting bored just sitting here.”

“Nah, I’ll pass,” Kuroo stands up too, stretching his arms above him. “I have morning classes tomorrow.”

“Boo, you nerd!”

“Hey, not everyone can get a sports scholarship,” Kuroo teases, lightly punching Bokuto’s shoulder. “’Sides, I wanna stop by my house before I go back.”

Bokuto quirks an eyebrow, inquisitive, “Is your mom all right?”

Kuroo chuckles, “Yeah, ma’s good. You know she’s made of iron. I just…” he makes a vague gesture with his hands, “Need to check up on a few things, y’know?”

“I don’t know, but okay! Say hi to her for me.”

“Will do,” Kuroo starts walking away, throwing a “Practice hard, you sports nerd!” and an over-the-shoulder wave.

“Piss off! And good night, dude!”

Bokuto deposits their empty cans and wrappers in a nearby trash can and saunters towards the train station, the sky now a sleet of dark ink.

It feels strange, not to have someone walking beside him, to listen to him as fragmented, random train of thoughts spark from his brain and travel to his mouth at a speed that’s nearly impossible to stop.

_Don’t make it weird._

It’s hard, when he keeps thinking about how Akaashi has liked him for about a year before he confessed.

What went through his mind all that while, when they spent time together as teammates, as captain and vice captain, as friends?

He kicks a pebble, watching as it rolls into the gutter with an unceremonious plop.

_Don’t make it weird._

 

**Ninety-nine**

 

“The regionals tournament is here. There’s no time to catch your breath; let’s ride on the momentum of our previous victories and keep winning. Don’t stop until we reach Interhigh, don’t stop until we reach the Spring tournament, don’t stop until we reach nationals. But for tonight, get a good night’s sleep. Because tomorrow, we’re going in for the kill.”

Bokuto idles outside the gym, hands in the pockets of his pants and head tipped backwards against the concrete wall, warm from the heat of the day. A smile plays over his lips as he listens to the end of Akaashi’s speech, the timbre of his voice wrapped around the uplifting words, to the team cheer, the cadence resounding throughout the gym, to the scurry of footsteps, sneakers squeaking against the parquet floor, to the babble of voices that follows the group of boys that file out the gym. He tries to make himself inconspicuous, hoping that he could surprise Akaashi when he exits the gym. None of them notices him, and he waits, scuffing his shoes against the dusty ground and watching the sky turn from light blue to a shade of tangerine.

Akaashi sure is taking his time, Bokuto thinks, checking the time on his phone.

He decides that he can’t wait any longer and peeks inside through the open doors.

Akaashi is sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, head resting against the wall, his eyes closed.

Bokuto tiptoes towards him, and when he’s directly in front of Akaashi, he squats down, hugging his knees to his chest.

_Is he asleep?_

Bokuto studies the relaxed lines of Akaashi’s body, the unguardedness revealing him to be the seventeen year-old he actually is; the barely-noticeable rise and fall of his chest; the ebony of his thick eyelashes, casting threads of silk over his cheeks under the glare of the gym lights.

He’s considered this before in the past, but it suddenly hits him again that Akaashi is beautiful.

Like, objectively speaking, of course. He’s heard girls talk in hallways and classrooms about Akaashi’s enviable beauty. Not that Bokuto is biased or anything. No, it’s just that he knows beauty when he sees it. Yeah, he has pretty softicklated tastes. Is that the word?

“Softicklated? So-sophiescaked? No, it’s something else… softskating?”

“Are you thinking of the word ‘sophisticated’?”

“Yeah! That’s the word I’m looking for! Thanks, Akaashi!”

Akaashi’s eyes open, his face returning to its default look of disinterestedness.

Bokuto gives a little squeak before he falls backwards, managing to support himself against his palms.

“A-akaashi! You’re awake!”

“I am.”

“Did I wake you up?”

“I was never asleep in the first place.”

“Akaashi!! Why did you pretend!”

“I didn’t. I simply closed my eyes.”

“Did you hear me come in?”

“I did.”

“Then you were pretending!”

Akaashi looks like he wants to roll his eyes but is withstanding it.

Bokuto repositions himself, mirroring Akaashi’s posture.

“What are you doing here?”

“That’s my line, Bokuto-san.”

“I-I was waiting for you!”

Akaashi careens his head to the side, just a little.

“That was quite the speech,” Bokuto says, sniffing.

There’s no detectable change in Akaashi’s face.

“Bokuto-san, how long have you been waiting?”

“Not long! It’s not what you think! I just wanted to walk you home, but I got here a little early and I kinda just stood outside during your pep-talk.”

“That doesn’t sound creepy at all,” Akaashi intones.

“Hey! I didn’t wanna interrupt you.”

Akaashi lets his gaze fall and starts rubbing the base of his left ring finger.  

“You don’t need to walk me home.”

“But I want to!”

“Why today in particular?”

“Because you have a game tomorrow, duh! Remember when you told me that you’re good at hiding stuff, even when you’re nervous?” Bokuto jabs a thumb towards himself, chest puffed out, “I’m here to make sure you don’t get nervous!”

“And what about your own practice?”

“Akaashi, don’t worry about the details! I know how to take care of myself!”

“Your past record doesn’t agree with that.”

Before Bokuto could argue further, Akaashi reaches out and pinches his nose. Bokuto freezes.

“Akaashi,” he says in a nasal voice, blinking confusedly.

“Have you been wearing sunscreen like I told you to?”

“O-of course I have!” He hasn’t.

Akaashi gives him an unimpressed look.

“Akaashi!” his whine becomes even more exaggerated and high-pitched, and Akaashi breathes a laughter, short and a little mean, but it makes him look dangerously beautiful, Bokuto thinks, when he’s being mean, a playful glint in his eyes.

He releases the clinch on Bokuto’s nose. “Don’t say I didn’t remind you when your freckles start appearing. It’s only going to get hotter from now on.”

Bokuto rubs his nose, glaring at Akaashi.

Akaashi only smirks and raises to his feet, his movements graceful. Bokuto has always admired that. How someone can remain so refined, even when they’re stuffing their face with 3 rice balls at once – he’ll never know.

“Well? Are you going to accompany me home or not?”

Bokuto jumps to his feet, all too eager. “I am!”

As Akaashi changes out of his sports clothes and into his school uniform, Bokuto sits one of the benches in the locker room, totally _not_ flustered at the sight of a half-naked Akaashi and the acute awareness that they’re alone, in a secluded space, late in the evening.

They head to the station and don’t have to wait long for their train to pull up on the tracks. The carriage is mostly empty, but Bokuto sits close to Akaashi, arms and shoulders pressed together, their thighs touching.

“Who are you texting?”

“Ennoshita.”

 _Geh_.

Bokuto makes a grunt of disinterested acknowledgment but cranes his neck, trying to take a peek at Akaashi’s phone. He sees bits and pieces of the conversation and is strangely relieved to find out that it primarily contains some really obscure terms that he thinks are related to filmography, interspersed with some issues regarding volleyball and captaincy.

“You could at least try to make your snooping less obvious.”

Bokuto immediately slides away, clearing his throat and pointedly looking at the windows across them, the scenery an intermingling of city illumination.

They hop off the train and Akaashi’s phone is still buzzing with new texts.

“You sure do talk a lot with the Karasuno captain,” Bokuto says, not without a hint of bitterness.

“Hm? Ah, it’s actually Tsukishima.”

Bokuto whips his head to the side, eyes bulging, effectively staggering to a stop.

“Tsukki texts you?!”

“Occasionally.” Akaashi’s phone vibrates again and he taps out a reply before sliding the device back in his bag, walking ahead leisurely. “Would you like to stop by the convenience store for a while?”

Bokuto dashes up to him. “I would! What do you guys even text about!”

“Volleyball, music, pop culture. Rudimentary things, really.”

“And just now?!”

“He wished me good luck for tomorrow.”

“That Tsukki! He can actually be nice huh! Why don’t _I_ have his number!”

“I wonder why.”

Akaashi buys a meat bun and splits it in half to share with Bokuto. They continue their walk, the cool night air a reprieve from the heat of the day. In the distance, there is the drone of the city; the rumble of subway trains, the whiz of cars on elevated highways. But here, there is only the click and scrape of heels on cobbled pavements, the excited sound of his own voice as he animatedly recounts the events he experienced over the past few days, the gentle hums vibrating through Akaashi’s throat.

They arrive at Akaashi’s gate, but Akaashi doesn’t make a move to go inside, his quiet eyes painted black without any light to irradiate the green. The porch light and street lamps do not do his features any justice.

Bokuto gnaws on his bottom lip, rubbing his sweaty palms against his pants.

 _Don’t say anything stupid_ , he tells himself.

Licking his lips, he musters up what he thinks is his usual brand of enthusiasm and says, “I’ll come to the game tomorrow!”

Akaashi stares and says nothing. He has this way of neither looking nor speaking, of being alone with himself even in the presence of another person, and Bokuto feels a shiver tingling at the base of his spine, traversing up his body in minute throes.

When Akaashi speaks, it’s in his usual calm and detached voice.

“You don’t have to.”

Bokuto feels his lips tugging downwards, but he fights it, forcing them up in a rather brittle grin.

“But I want to.”

“You need to invest more of your time and attention to your own tournaments.”

 _But I want to be with you more_ , he doesn’t say.

“We haven’t been spending a lot of time together lately,” he says lamely, examining his shoes.

Akaashi sighs, soft and resigned, and it’s more disconcerting when it’s not the irritated kind of sigh. “That’s to be expected. We lead different lives, Bokuto-san.”

 _We didn’t use to_ , he wants to say.

They’re best friends, and best friends are supposed to stick together and try to keep their relationship afloat even when they’re separated by a measly, cruel one-year age gap.

But has Akaashi only seen him as a friend and upperclassman and teammate if he holds romantic feelings towards Bokuto?

 _Don’t say anything stupid,_ he reminds himself for the umpteenth time.

Bokuto feels his hands curling into fists at his sides, and he lifts his face, looking at Akaashi squarely in the eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Akaashi.”

Akaashi clutches the strap of his bag, his eyes gliding over to his family’s nameplate beside the gate, his composed face camouflaging his displeasure.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bokuto-san,” he says, terse, lips thinned.

Bokuto waits until Akaashi goes inside, the front door clicked firmly shut, before he heads home. In the distance, there is the drone of the city, but here, there is only silence.

 

**A hundred**

 

Akaashi has improved a lot. That much is easy to tell, from the way he confidently steers the team plays to his quicker responses during moments of disarray. He’s always been level-headed, even when the team was facing imposing opponents and was driven to a corner, but now, as he himself carries the title of captain of a formidable team, as he sets a toss that allows his wing-spikers to blow past their opponents, as he throws the ball in the air, running and hitting it with refined accuracy to deliver a service ace that shakes the gymnasium floor and reverberates throughout the space, up to the stands, where the crowds howl and cheer and chant his name like he is a king, majestic even if he’s draped in reticence, his cloak black and bewitching, and behind him, a troop that heeds his every command.

Fukurodani soars and wins the two matches they have for the day, and they are set to bag another victory in the semi-finals tomorrow.

At the end of the second match, after members of the two teams have shook hands and thanked their supporters, Akaashi stands alone at the edge of the court, looking over his shoulders, gaze calmly sweeping over the throng of spectators. Bokuto is already on his feet, waiting for Akaashi to catch sight of him. And when their eyes meet, Bokuto cracks a smile, despite the hollow feeling in his chest. Akaashi, with his forehead glistening in sweat, his cheeks still pink from exertion, his dark, curly hair damp and matted, raises a fist, elbow straight, knuckles pointed towards his ex-captain. His face is indifferent, but his half-lidded eyes are alive, burning with a quiet passion that is so very characteristic of him.

Bokuto pumps his fist into the air to return the gesture and the sentiment, and to accept the extension of a truce from last night’s feud.

And when he lowers his hand and watches Akaashi swivel around, the number 1 emblazoned on his jersey growing smaller as he walks away, Bokuto feels a little less empty, filled instead with certitude. He knows what he must do if he doesn’t want to be left behind.

 

**One hundred and two**

 

“Here.”

Toriumi glances up at Bokuto, and takes the offered water bottle, expression tinted with slight annoyance.

Bokuto feels his mouth curl into disgruntlement, but he swallows his own pride down, taking a seat next to his upperclassman on the floor of the gym and willfully ignoring the glare he gets in return.

“Practice with me some more later!” he requests, a little too demandingly.

“Ha? How about no?”

“We need to surpass the seniors!”

Toriumi looks at him like he’s grown two heads. “We’ve been through this before. Unlike you, I don’t have time for extra practice.”

“But –”

“Seriously, are you here to just annoy me? It’s break time, leave me alone for God’s sake.” Toriumi takes a swig of his drink to put an end to the conversation.

Bokuto isn’t taking any of it.

“Why are you like this! I’m trying to work with you, you know!”

“Why am _I_ like this?” His senior thrusts a forefinger in his front of his face. “Why are _you_ like _that_?”

“Don’t you want to become better?” Bokuto continues, voice gruff.

“And don’t _you_ want to consider studying harder instead of playing volleyball all the damn time?”

“I’m supposed to play volleyball all the damn time, because of my scholarshit!”

“It’s scholarship! And don’t shout! The captain’s going to yell at us again!”

“You’re shouting too!”

“Toriumi! Bokuto!” A voice booms from across the gym, making them both quail. “What did I tell you about fighting?”

They accept their fate when the captain sends them to run a few rounds up and down the hill behind the building, collapsing on the grass when they’re done, their gym shirts drenched in sweat and sticking to their backs.

“I,” Toriumi says, panting, “Hate you.”

Sprawled on his back, Bokuto lifts a hand to signal some time allotment for him to say a comeback, chest heaving with each intake of air.

“I think –” he sucks in a deep breath, “- we’ve established that.”

He hears a thud, and guesses that Toriumi has also joined him in admiring the azure summer sky above them, the sun beating down with no mercy.

His breathing evens. A frond of cloud sails by, and it reminds him of a bird’s feather.  He wants to snap a picture to send it to Akaashi so he could see it too. He closes his eyes against the sunbeam.

“I take that back.”

Bokuto cracks an eye open.

“I take that back. I don’t really hate you.”

He opens both of his eyes, wondering if he should say something too.

“I don’t hate you too,” he says. That much is true.

Toriumi sits up.

“I don’t know how to work with you. You’re unpredictable, and even though you’d be doing good, you’d suddenly get moody because of a few small mistakes. You’re childish, but you’re skilled, and I resent you for that. I hate that you’re on a different level than me, even though I’m your senior.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows scrunch together. He doesn’t know what to say. He breathes in, deep.

“Coach says he’ll only put me in games when he sees that I have my moods under control.”

It was like this too, when he was a first year in high school.

“That’s why I need your help.”

It’s hard to admit. He doesn’t _want_ to admit it, that he needs someone else to help him achieve his full potential. But that’s how it was in the past, and how it still is. The reason he was able to rise as a dependable ace was because he had people building and buttressing the stairs that led the way to higher places. He was good, but he wouldn’t have been the best by himself.

_Without Akaashi._

Bokuto places a hand over his heart. It’s weird, because it’s suddenly beating really fast even though he’s already calmed down from the run. He hopes it’s not because of all the meat he had for dinner last night.

Toriumi is quiet for a long time.  

“I can’t promise you that I’ll be of much help.”

Bokuto lifts himself, using his elbows as levers.

“But this is a two-way deal. If I help you, you have to help me too.”

Bokuto nods his head so rapidly that he feels it might fly off.

“You have to learn to think about others,” Toriumi says, face serious, “I don’t know how it was in high school, but you’re in college now, and things are different. You can’t be as selfish as you used to.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says dully, before shaking his head and saying, “I mean, yeah! Yeah, I can totally do that!”

Toriumi gives him a hard look, but then he gets up, brushing grass off his shorts.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Bokuto springs to his feet, a little unsteadily. It must be the heat. “I’m fine with that! Thanks, Toriumi-san!”

Toriumi waves him off, heading back to the gym. Bokuto looks up at the sky again, searching for any interestingly-shaped clouds. When he doesn’t see any, he trails after Toriumi. He thinks about Akaashi all day.

 

**One hundred and twenty-three**

 

_“I’m sorry.”_

Akaashi’s voice is monotonous, and a little too quiet over the line, making him sound further away than he really is.

Bokuto has already seen it coming, but the constriction in his throat is hard to ignore.

“Hey, it’s okay!” he says, forcing himself to sound cheerful, “You gotta study and kick ass, that’s more important!”

He hears a hum on the other side, and it’s a gentle thrum against his ear, making his eyelids droop lower.

_“Are you getting ready for bed, Bokuto-san?”_

“Wha – no! It’s still too early!” Bokuto rolls over to his side, forcing himself to alertness. Darn Akaashi and his god-like senses. “And what about you! Still studying?”

 _“Yes.”_ The sigh that ensues is a crackle of static to Bokuto’s ears. “ _It’s my own fault, honestly. I should have constructed a better timetable for myself.”_

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re sooooo much better than I am! I forget to study unless you remind me to!”

He feels that Akaashi is giving him a pointed look, and he laughs skittishly at the mental image he conjures.

_“Bokuto-san, let’s not have a replay of the Math incident from a year ago.”_

“Akaashi!! You promised to never bring that up again!”

_“And you promised to not fall asleep in class again, but you still do.”_

“Can you blame me! The lecture halls are huge and the professors talk so much! I can doze off and never get caught!”

_“What did we say about falling asleep in public?”_

“That we can use it to get out of awkward social situations?”

_“And?”_

Bokuto groans, turning over once again to lie on his stomach.

“I know I know! Geez.”

He hears a short breath of laughter, and there are butterflies at the pit of his belly.

There is a beat of silence, and the drowsiness returns.

 _“Bokuto-san,”_ Akaashi says, voice smooth as silk and sharp as a knife, _“You’ve been practicing very hard lately.”_

_Because I don’t want you to leave me behind._

Bokuto looks at his bedside table, his phone sandwiched between his ear and pillow. There’s a framed picture of his sister and himself, and a picture of the Fukurodani volleyball team when they went to nationals last year.

He must’ve been quiet for too long and Akaashi must’ve mistaken it for one of his sulking silences, because the next thing that Akaashi says is another apology, voice dipping soft.

_“I’m really sorry for not being able to come to your game.”_

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, rubbing his eyes and hating himself. “Don’t be sorry.”

_You should be, maybe. Because we haven’t seen each other for over two weeks now._

Bokuto screws his eyes shut and shakes his head, and he can see tiny stars when he opens his eyes again, flecks dotting his vision, floating around his messy room.

He bites his lower lip, gripping the bed sheet.

“After your exams are done, can you come visit me?”

_“I can’t.”_

Bokuto’s heart sinks, fingers white around the owl-printed linen.

_“I’ll come visit you after the mock examinations are finished, though.”_

His heart soars up to his throat, and this time his fingers clutch the bed sheet for different reasons. If he doesn’t grab onto something he feels like he just might burst.

“Really? Will you really?”

_“Yes.”_

“That’s great! That’s really great!”

_“Bokuto-san, please don’t shout into the phone.”_

“I’ll do my best for the games, Akaashi!”

_“I know you will.”_

Bokuto’s cheeks are starting to hurt because he’s smiling so hard, and he’s still smiling after the call ends.

He doesn’t start to think about where Akaashi is applying for college until much later.

 

**One hundred and forty-seven**

 

“In two weeks? So training camp is at the end of the break huh? That’s good isn’t it?”

“I suppose you can say so. By that time the peak of summer has already passed.”

“It’s not good then! What’s summer camp if it’s not held during the peak! There’s nothing that says summer camp more than running around in the heat and feeling like your brain’s gonna melt and that you’re gonna pass out from all the work out!”

“Bokuto-san, you should not take heat strokes and dehydration lightly.”

“I thought dehydrations are for bears?”

“Hibernations are different. Being dehydrated means your body is losing excessive amounts of water.”

“I see! You’re so smart, Akaashi!”

Akaashi turns a page of the book he’s reading. He doesn’t mind it though, when Bokuto is flinging him all these questions. He never did, and Bokuto grins to himself as he swings his body so that he’s hanging upside down from the bed. Vertigo seizes him for a while, but then it fades away and the world he sees is inverted. He slides down further until his back is completely flat against the floor when the blood rushes to his head, his legs still perched on the mattress. Akaashi is sitting on the floor beside him with his back against the bed.

“What are you reading?”

Akaashi flips to another page.

“My chemistry notes.”

“Akaashi! It’s summer break!”

“Yours will still go on for a couple of months but mine is nearing its end.”

“You still have a month!”

“Less than one month. If I were to be specific, the new semester starts in 27 days.”

“But you did well didn’t you! For the semester exams and the mock exams!”

“Complacence is dangerous. I could’ve done better.”

 _Where are you even applying to,_ Bokuto doesn’t ask.

“Akaashi,” he says, a pout beetling on his lips.

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

_We haven’t seen each other that much lately._

It’s no use. It’s a worn-out statement, one that’s been shot down by the justification that time is not on their side, that they each have commitments that need to be seen to before anything else. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all for the past few weeks; Bokuto came back home once, right after a match, and he had expended some time to visit Akaashi. But at that time Akaashi was swamped with exam preparations, and his mother had suggested, with an apologetic smile and a pat to the head, that _maybe you can find a different time to see Keiji_. He sends at least a dozen texts everyday, but his new practice regimen and his promise towards a better character are taxing, not to mention the fact that he had his own exams to deal with, and there have been days when phone calls had to be postponed because he was too exhausted to keep any sort of coherent conversation going. The myth of his boundless energy seems to be dissipating nowadays. Akaashi, too, has already been burdened with so many things, and – and Bokuto hates it. He thinks it’s unfair, how they’re forced to grow up. And now Akaashi is _here_ , with him, but he’s brewing with all these emotions that he doesn’t even have a handle on.

“Bokuto-san, what is it?”

Akaashi has closed his book and placed it on the carpet, his face unmoved, but Bokuto knows that he’s genuinely concerned. Even if nobody knows, _Bokuto_ does, and that should’ve been enough for him. But it isn’t. Because there are still so many things he _doesn’t_ know.

“Akaashi.”

His gaze drops, eyebrows inclined, and he reaches out for Akaashi’s hand, clasping it and running a thumb over the knuckles.

“Did you miss me? At all?”

Akaashi remains quiet, and Bokuto slowly looks up to meet his eyes. Akaashi’s expression is unflappable, but then he smiles, tiny and derisive.

“Did you think I didn’t?”

_Do you think so little of me?_

“No! No, I mean, I just.” Bokuto rakes his free hand through his hair, uncombed and unstyled, flopping over his forehead and often provoking Akaashi to tease him. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

Akaashi looks down at their joined hands, giving Bokuto’s hand a light, almost experimental squeeze. He turns it over, raising it close to his face, like he’s about to kiss it. Bokuto’s heart rate accelerates, breath caught in his throat.

“Bokuto-san, your nails have gotten very long.”

“I - what?”

“Your nails.” Akaashi arches an eyebrow. “They’re long. It’s not conducive for playing volleyball.”

“I guess they are pretty long. I didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t notice huh.”

Because Akaashi used to file or trim his nails for him because when he did it himself his nails were cut too choppily and unevenly.

An obnoxious laugh erupts out of Bokuto, one that he’s sure would raise Akaashi’s suspicions.

“Akaashi, this type of thing is too trivial for me! I have other worries you know!”

“That’s surprising, coming from someone who still misspells ‘worries’.”

Bokuto recoils, offended, but Akaashi gets up and goes to the duffel bag that he brought with him for his stay, coming back to sit in front of Bokuto with a nail clipper and setting a newspaper between them.

Expression unchanged, he holds out a hand, palm upwards, towards Bokuto.

Ah, Bokuto thinks, this is a recognizable scene.

He gives Akaashi his right hand, their palms touching, Akaashi’s cool fingers a familiar sensation.

 _It’s just that you always run hot, Bokuto-san_. That’s what Akaashi once said when Bokuto so very helpfully informed him of his perpetually cold hands.

Akaashi dips his head and begins trimming Bokuto’s nails, methodically, quietly, eyes hidden by the curtain of lashes, and Bokuto is back in high school again, sitting in the clubroom with his vice-captain who neatly clips his nails and helps him with the club paperwork and shares his snacks with him and reminds him to clean his locker.

Vice-captain. Underclassman. Friend. Best friend. Person who confessed his romantic feelings. Person who he doesn’t want to drift apart from.

They don’t speak during the whole time Akaashi cuts his nails.

After playing a round of Burnout Takedown (where Bokuto loses a race because he keeps running into dividers), they get ready for bed, Akaashi crawling into a futon on the floor and Bokuto toppling onto his bed after tripping over what Akaashi calls his collection of trashy shoujo manga, to which he argues _they’re my sister’s!! I keep telling you that!_

With the room engulfed in darkness, Bokuto stares up at the ceiling, eyes growing adjusted to the lack of light, breathing even, hands trembling.

“Akaashi. Are you asleep?”

Silence, followed by a slight rustle.

“I’m still awake.”

“Okay.”

Bokuto turns to his right side, in Akaashi’s direction. He can see the outline of Akaashi’s body under the covers, immersed in dark ink. He thinks Akaashi is facing his way too.

“Akaashi.”

“Hm.”

Bokuto wonders how a person can sleep in comfort under a blanket during hot summer nights.

“When – when you said you’ve liked me since that practice match against Ubugawa, why didn’t you tell me about it right away?”

Silence, longer this time.

Bokuto stammers, panic building up in him, “I – I mean, wasn’t it hard to keep it to – to yourself?”

 _Why did you keep it a secret from me, your friend?_  

There is another bout of silence, but before Bokuto can spout anything else, Akaashi says, “Why are you suddenly bringing this up?”

His voice is frosty, almost unforgiving.

Bokuto is about to come up with a stupid answer when Akaashi releases a sigh. Bokuto waits, toes curling, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“I… never realized.” A pause. A pause of discomfort. “I didn’t recognize that my feelings were of… romantic nature.”

“So that means –”

 Akaashi has always regarded him as a captain and friend and upperclassman, without any hidden or hopeful intentions.

He doesn’t notice he’s left his sentence hanging.

“It means, Bokuto-san, that this is not something you should worry about any further.”

Akaashi’s voice has returned to its hard, forbidding tone, leaving Bokuto cold.

“Akaashi, I didn’t mean…”

“I think we need a new rule, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“Don’t ever talk about it.”

 _It._ The confession.

There is a rustle of movement as Akaashi turns, his back to Bokuto.

“I’m going to sleep.”

Bokuto stares at Akaashi’s silhouette, defined weakly by the silver moonlight seeping through the blinds.

“Goodnight,” he says, voice shaky.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything back.

Bokuto turns so he’s facing the wall, curled up, knees almost to his chest, pinching his eyes shut. He doesn’t sleep that night.

 

**One hundred and sixty-five**

 

Bokuto watches as the fan whirs in his direction, opening his mouth and belching, the undulating sound entertaining him for a while before the fan rotates to a different direction.

Lying on his stomach on the floor, he groans, smothering his face into the pillow he’s hugging.

“Koutarou, if you’re bored, why don’t you go out? It’s unlike you to stay indoors all day.”

That’s because he’s mourning over the confirmed death and non-existence of his brain-to-mouth filter. The funeral was three weeks ago.

“Maybe I’ll go out later, Aunt Setsuko.” He reaches for the remote control, switching the television on, even though he knows he won’t be paying attention to it.

His aunt walks into the living room, hands on her hips.

“Honestly, you’ve come back home for the break but all you do is mope.” She sighs, taking a seat on the sofa. “Where’s that smart friend of yours, the one who used to come by during the weekends? Akaashi-kun? Kana seems to like him a lot too.”

“He has training camp.” And the two weeks before that they were too busy trying to pretend that the gravity of the conversation in Bokuto’s dorm room didn’t crush them. And it’s not like they have to see each other all the time. Yeah, things are completely fine. Distance makes the heart grow fondle. That’s what people usually say right? His heart has definitely grown fondle over Akaashi, whatever that’s supposed to mean. So there.

“Oh, right. He’s still in high school. And what about you? No practice?”

“We have a week off.” It’s only a ONE year difference, but why does it make everything suck so badly? Bokuto buries his face into the pillow once again. He _so_ doesn’t miss Akaashi or anything.

“Why don’t you go out for a run? You love that don’t you?”

“Did that this morning. Twice.”

His aunt shakes her head. “Then I don’t know what to say anymore.” She stands up, taking off her apron. “Anyway, I’ve made some food. Kana will know how long to heat it up. I’ll be going back to the shop now.”

Bokuto makes an effort to sit up.

“Thanks as always, Aunt Setsuko. See you again this weekend.”

Setsuko waves him off, and Bokuto’s phone dings incessantly with a barrage of texts just as the front door clicks shut.

_BOKUTO_

_BOKUTO WHAT THE SHIT_

_(Image attached)_

_Um since when were they buddies?? Last time I checked they were waging a war to claim the title of sass master???_

_(Image attached)_

The pictures that Kuroo has sent are of Kozume, sleeping on the living room floor, curled up into a ball, but what blows Bokuto’s eyes as big as plates is the figure of a sleeping Akaashi, lying on his back with an arm under his head, the other across his abdomen, painting him into a relaxed, unguarded posture, and he’s sleeping _next to Kozume holy shit_ what in God’s name has happened –

He slams his thumb on the green dial button next to Kuroo’s name, pacing around the living room and tugging at his hair.

“What the hap is  –”

_“Wait wait let me get out of the house first.”_

Bokuto makes a noise of impatience at the back of his throat.

_“Okay, the coast is clear.”_

“But at what cost, Kuroo?”

Kuroo lets out a heavy sigh on the other side.

_“I don’t know, man. I don’t know how to even process this. Do you remember that time when they had that super sarcastic squabble and you were so stressed out that you cried?”_

“I did _not_ cry! My eyes were sweating!”

_“You totally did. But god do I feel so betrayed right now. I came all the way to Kenma’s house –”_

“You’re at home on break. You live right next door.”

_“– to welcome him home from training camp but what do I stumble into? I feel like I caught my wife cheating on me.”_

Bokuto makes a face of befuddlement. What a weird analogy. He shakes his head, focusing on the dilemma at hand and says, “But what were they _doing_? Did they have a battle of wits and knock each other out? I never knew they _hung out_.”

“ _I asked Kenma’s mom and apparently they were studying together?”_ Kuroo sounds like he’s still deep in disbelief. _“Akaashi came home with him straight from training camp? Does this mean they’re friends? When did that even happen? How?”_

“Why are you asking me!”

_“They were rhetorical questions.”_

“What do historical questions have to do with this!”

_“Honestly though, here I thought I’d give him a nice surprise by inviting myself over –”_

“You literally see him everyday. There’s no element of surprise.”

_“Hey, I vary the times that I come over. That way the excitement in our relationship can be maintained. Keep the love alive. That’s my motto.”_

“I thought your motto is ‘be like a proton: stay positive’?”

 _“That’s the spirit. Maybe they bonded over how much they missed their former team captains eh?”_ Kuroo chuckles, and Bokuto is pretty sure he’s also sporting a sleazy grin, but he also doesn’t miss the nervous twinge in Kuroo’s voice. _“I mean, that must be it right?”_

Kuroo gives a full-blown laughter this time, before he quietens down completely.

“Kuroo…? You okay, buddy?”

 _“Bokuto,”_ Kuroo breathes out, _“Kenma hasn’t brought any friends home ever since me.”_

“Hey hey, it’s okay, you’re still Kozume’s best most annoying childhood friend, no one could ever replace you.”

 _“No no, I’m happy for him,”_ Kuroo sniffs, _“He never even brought Shrimpy over, y’know? So I’m really glad. Kind of jealous, but mostly happy and proud.”_

Bokuto clutches his chest, “Dude, you have such a big heart.”

_“Thank – oh shit!”_

“What’s wrong?”

_“Akaashi is at the window glaring at me.”_

Kuroo must’ve been too loud. Akaashi has always been a light sleeper.

 _“He looks_ pissed, _like, borderline murderous.”_

“Rest in peace, Kuroo.”

_“No wait –”_

Bokuto cuts the call before he gets dragged in and also becomes the recipient of Akaashi’s wrath. He’s been there too many times already, thank you very much.

He flops onto the couch, draping his body over all three cushions, staring up at the ceiling, head on the armrest.

Okay, so maybe he _does_ miss Akaashi. And maybe he’s a little jealous of Kozume too, just a teeny bit.

He grabs a pillow and screams into it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: konoha deals with bokuto's shit and the summary makes more sense, and feelings Blow Up


	3. ocean crests, breaking waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can say that I’ve become an even more of a cool guy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was not supposed to be this long

**One hundred and eighty**

 

“So, you guys are gonna continue on with the yakisoba stall right? For the cultural festival!”

Akaashi writes out a few words on the sidelines of the new strategy he’s working on, face a picture of calm concentration.

“Yes, we are.” He stops scribbling for a while, thinking. “A few of the first years suggested an arcade game of some sort, where we let the guests try a hand at volleyball and win a prize if they get a spike in. I’ll hold a vote, perhaps, to make sure everyone is satisfied.”

“But Akaashi!! The yakisoba stall is our tradition!”

“I know, but we have to consider the members’ input as well.”

Bokuto whines, loud and long, leaning forward with his arms outstretched, upper body sliding over the table. “You should be more selfish!”

Akaashi lifts his head, penetrative gaze locking onto Bokuto’s.

“You should learn by now that that is not a wise thing to tell me.”

A chill telegraphs through Bokuto’s body, and he sits back on his chair properly, twiddling his fingers, eyes darting around Akaashi’s dining room.

“Y-your mom is sure taking her sweet time with the grocery shopping!”

Akaashi hums, returning to devising his game play.

Bokuto wants to say that they’re back to normal, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. They didn’t exactly make up, because they never really did fight in the first place, so Bokuto decided to just carry on as usual in his interactions with Akaashi, but he notices that he’s constantly walking on eggshells around Akaashi nowadays, which he’d proud of if it isn’t at the expense of their friendship. Akaashi, too, hasn’t said anything about _it_ , but Bokuto supposes that that’s to be expected.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and Bokuto is shaken out of his reverie. Akaashi sets his pencil down and looks out the window, at the gathering reef of dark grey clouds, then back to Bokuto, whose eyes are wide, lips hitting a hard line.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, in his default apathetic voice and expression, “Let’s go watch a movie.”

Bokuto robotically bobs his head in a nod, standing up when Akaashi does and tailing him into the living room, clutching the hem of Akaashi’s t-shirt.

Akaashi puts on a movie of Bokuto’s choice, something warm and light-hearted, and sits close to him. Bokuto immediately huddles closer when he chances a glance out the window and sees that droplets of rain have started to fall.

Akaashi’s mother returns home lamenting the weather, but then blithely goes to the kitchen to prepare lunch.

A clap of thunder jolts Bokuto out of his seat, and a brittle laugh forces its way out of his mouth so as to cover up his restlessness. Akaashi doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even turn to look at him, but reaches over to hold Bokuto’s hand. Raindrops pelt against the glass windows like bullets, but the jitters have drained out of Bokuto as he grips Akaashi’s hand in his like it’s his lifeline. Akaashi doesn’t say anything.

By the time they’ve finished eating lunch, the rain has mellowed, a light drizzle clothing the earth.

When Bokuto looks outside with his face scrunched up in thought, Akaashi taps once him on the shoulder.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Bokuto forgets about his fear of thunder and aversion to rain.

For someone who dislikes the rain, Bokuto loves jumping in puddles, feeling gleeful when the water splashes around him and soaks his ankles. He ceases stomping on the puddles when Akaashi gives him a stern look, and he compromises, choosing instead to whistle a sunny tune, as though doing so would make the rain stop falling.

Bokuto notices the wet patch on Akaashi’s right shoulder, rain slipping from the ferule of the umbrella and dripping onto him, and Bokuto reaches over to loop an arm around Akaashi, pulling him closer to the center.

“You’re the one holding the umbrella, so let’s make sure you don’t get wet,” he says, grinning wide, papery creases at the corner of his eyes.

Akaashi blinks once, slowly, eyes dark under the grey weather.

“We better stick close then,” he eventually says, left shoulder bumping into Bokuto’s right, elbows touching, their steps in sync.

Akaashi loves the rain. Bokuto knows that. He also knows that Akaashi could’ve just lent him an umbrella and sent him on his way, but he didn’t.

Their hands brush against each other’s, knuckles grazing, and Bokuto wants to hold Akaashi’s hand, lace their fingers together, but he decides against it.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and tries to pivot his thoughts on other things. The pitter patter of the rain against the umbrella above them, the gush of water running in the trenches, the sloshy splash of puddles under their feet, the amplified _thump thump_ of his heartbeat.

Akaashi sees him to his front door, watching in quiet amusement as the tips of Bokuto’s hair wilt in the humidity. Another thing that makes him detest the rain.

“Well, thanks Akaashi!” Bokuto fishes his pocket for his keys, thinking that Akaashi is already leaving. But Akaashi just stands there, umbrella tilted to cover his eyes.

“Akaashi?”

“Will you be coming?”

Bokuto tips his head to the side, an eyebrow raised.

Akaashi moves his hand, slightly lifting the umbrella so Bokuto can see his face.

“To the festival.”

Bokuto’s face splits into a grin.

“Of –”

His expression dims, his mouth hanging. He sucks in his bottom lip, scuffing the ground with his soaked sneakers, eyes glued to the puddle near Akaashi’s feet.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to.”

Akaashi turns his gaze sideways, collected expression and poised stature making him look surreal against the backdrop of the rain, like he came straight out of a painting.

“I want you to.”

Bokuto’s mood shoots up to the murky skies and his grin returns with full force.

“Then there’s nothing left to be said! I’ll definitely come! Even if it kills me, I’ll go to the cultural festival!”

“Please place more value into your life.”

“I’m so stoked! I can’t wait!”

“There’s still a few more weeks to go.”

“Time is an illusion! I’m so happy, Akaashi!”

Akaashi’s lips stretch into a tiny smile, affectionate nonetheless in Bokuto’s eyes.

“Me too.” He tips his umbrella a little. “Goodbye, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi takes his leave, and Bokuto can only think that today is the best day of his summer.

 

**One hundred and eighty-seven**

 

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing company!”

Kozume’s eyes flit to the side as he inches a little closer to Kuroo, his face showing traces of tetchiness.

“Ah well, it was sort of last minute,” Kuroo says, grinning his cheshire grin.

“I wish Akaashi could’ve made it,” Bokuto grouses, “But he has his hands full with studying.”

“He’s a busy kid, let him live,” Kuroo responds, chuckling.

“I told you I was busy too, but you brought me here anyway,” Kozume mutters, twisting a frayed thread of his t-shirt around his fingers.

“Kenma, I’m hurt.” Kuroo presses a hand over his heart. “Are you saying you don’t want to spend time with me?”

“We’ve spent the whole summer together.”

“And now we’re spending the end of it together too,” Kuroo grins again, casually taking Kozume’s hand.

Kozume lets him and doesn’t retort, huffing a breath that blows a few strands of his hair out of his pink face.

Bokuto watches this with a quirked brow, feeling somewhat bollixed. He wishes Akaashi was beside him, so he can ask him to interpret and patiently explain the exchange he just witnessed and drive the obfuscation away.

“Anyway!” he says, when Kuroo keeps looking at Kozume with a smile on his face, while Kozume stubbornly keeps his gaze downwards, even though their hands are still attached. “Kozume, you want me to buy you some candy apples? Kuroo said you liked them! I think!”

This effectively catches Kozume’s attention; he lifts his eyes, a twinkle in them.

“Bokuto, ever so generous,” Kuroo laughs. “Aren’t you lucky, Kenma?” he nudges Kozume, teasing.

Bokuto thinks that he would feel a little left out if Kozume is present. He’s never tagged along for any of Bokuto’s and Kuroo’s outings, but Bokuto’s seen how Kozume and Kuroo are; Bokuto and Kuroo might be best buddies, but they don’t have what Kuroo has with Kozume. Something inherent that comes along with being together with someone since childhood maybe.

But Bokuto’s glad he’s proven wrong. He doesn’t feel left out at all, even though Kuroo always has this weird and sappy look on his face when he interacts with Kozume. It seems that treating him to candy apples is an ingenious idea, because he progressively warms up a little to Bokuto after that.

It’s the last festival of the season, and it’s a small one, hosted by Bokuto’s neighborhood association. Fall will greet them soon, and he isn’t looking forward to the cold in the least, but then he remembers that Akaashi’s favorite season is autumn, so maybe it’s not _too_ bad.

Since it’s a local mini festival, there are only two rows of stalls, and Bokuto knows most of the people that run them. They’re all acquainted with his aunt one way or another, and the three of them end up getting quite a lot freebies, to which Kuroo smirks appreciatively, clapping Bokuto on the back.

They’re eating cotton candy when they pass by a booth that’s manned by Sarukui, and Bokuto makes a gargle of excited noises.

“Saru!!” he exclaims after stuffing the last of his candy in his mouth, hands thrown up in the air.

Sarukui looks up from mixing some sort of batter, eyebrows climbing up his hairline.

“Bokuto!”

“What are you doing here!”

Sarukui’s lips, in their constant curved state that creates the image of a smile, lune into a proper grin.

“Helping my dad out with the stall.”

True enough, beside Sarukui is a middle-aged man, hands busy turning over octopus balls in several molded pans at once, smile wide as he chats with the customer in front of him.

Bokuto’s mouth waters, eyes glinting at the sight of more food. But then a realization occurs to him, his appetite forgotten.

“I thought your family owns a liquor store?”

“We do,” Sarukui confirms, throwing some salt into the batter, “But we open up takoyaki booths during the neighborhood festivals. It’s more –” he holds his wooden spoon up, coated with the thick takoyaki mixture, waving it around a little “ – family-oriented.”   

He shrugs. “Besides, my old man likes it. Jokes about how running this stall is his true calling.”

“Cool!” Bokuto looks over his shoulder, “Kuroo, want some of these?”

“Are we getting them for free?” Kuroo grins, sly, standing languidly behind Bokuto with his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, Kuroo from Nekoma, right?” Sarukui nods in Kuroo’s direction by way of greeting.

Kuroo gives a two-fingered salute. “Hello there.”

“Akaashi with you?” Sarukui directs this at Bokuto, who frowns in return.

“No,” Bokuto answers grumpily, “He’s busy.”

“Well, being an honor student and a team captain already takes up a lot of his time. Adding all that with the fact that he’s your caretaker? That makes Akaashi a very busy man.”

“That’s what I’ve been told,” Bokuto says through gritted teeth, ignoring Kuroo who’s guffawing behind him. “And hey! He’s not my babysitter!”

“You’re right, he’s not. He’s more of a parent if anything,” Sarukui chortles, amused by Bokuto’s sullen expression. “I see him sometimes when I’m doing deliveries. His dad is a regular patron of our shop, the type that buys all the good wine and stuff.”

“Your point is?”

“I’m rubbing in the fact that you’re not the only one who gets to see our beloved kohai post-graduation.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that your personality is probably worse than Konoha’s?”

“Not to my face, no.”

“Yamato, you didn’t tell me your friend is here!” Sarukui’s father sidles up beside him, grinning at Bokuto.

“You remember Bokuto, right? He was the captain of the volleyball club.”

“’Course I do! Went to a couple of your games. You were great, kid!”

Bokuto beams. “Thanks!”

“Here, why don’t you have some takoyaki? I’ll give them to you, free of charge!”

“I’ll accept them gratefully!!”

Sarukui rolls his eyes, his lips curved in a smile, and goes to pack some of the food, passing them over to Bokuto.

“Well Captain, it was nice seeing you.”

“Likewise!” Bokuto says distractedly, eyes on the food in his hands, salivating.

Sarukui gives an exasperated shake of his head. “If you see Akaashi any time soon, tell him I said hi.”

“Got it!” Bokuto digs in, cheeks protruding as he munches on a few of the octopus balls at once. He twists around, looking for Kuroo and Kozume.

He gulps down his food, eyes scurrying around for any signs of Kuroo’s rooster hair.

“Saru, did you notice where Kuroo went?”

“Hmm? Not really.”

“Well, never mind. Thanks for the food, mister!”

Sarukui’s dad waves him goodbye as he runs off, stuffing the last of the takoyaki into his mouth.

The crowd is thin, so Bokuto isn’t too worried about being able to find his friends, but what’s starting to make him crabby is the thought that they’ve deserted him, because Kuroo isn’t even picking up his calls. He pops his head into alleyways and scans the people lining up at the food stalls, but still hasn’t detected either Kuroo or Kozume.

“Where did those two go!”

He stomps his way around, wringing his hands. Just when he’s about to give up, because _who cares!! Those two can sneak off for all I care!!_ he spots Kuroo’s lanky figure, hunched over Kozume, who’s leaning against the wall of a building, away from the main roads and any prying eyes. They’re holding hands _again_ , and Bokuto’s face contorts into one of disgust. _Are all childhood friends always that mushy and clingy!_

Bokuto is about to yell out his presence when Kuroo ducks his head close, brushing his lips against Kozume’s, and Bokuto freezes in place, his thoughts stilling.   

Eyes widening, he can feel his sense of gravity swaying up and away, as if somebody just pulled the rug from underneath him and he’s losing connection to the ground.

Kuroo’s lips detach from Kozume’s, and then Kuroo’s giggling like a school girl with a crush while Kozume smiles softly up at him, and Bokuto’s ataxia of thoughts return, enough to alert him to hide around the corner where his friends won’t see him as he tries to make sense of everything.

_“I just…need to check up on a few things, y’know?”_

_“I feel like I caught my wife cheating on me.”_

_“Keep the love alive.”_

Bokuto drops to the ground in squat, a hand clutching his hair.

Of course _,_ he thinks, the signs were there, weren’t they? And even before all that, Kuroo had always been keen on ensuring Kozume’s happiness and safety and comfort. Bokuto feels like an idiot. He should’ve taken the hints and put the pieces together. He feels hysteria pressing down on him, threatening to explode into laughter, and coupled with it is what he feels as the unmistakable burning in his cheeks as an effect of embarrassment at his own stupidity.

Why didn’t Kuroo ever tell him?

He bites down the scream that’s culminating in his throat.

 

**Still a hundred and eighty-seven**

 

“Kuroo, can we talk for a while?”

“Sure.”

Bokuto glances at Kozume, then looks back at Kuroo, rubbing his nape in a nervous habit.

“Alone.”

 Kuroo stares at him for a while, an eyebrow arched, before he shrugs.

“Okay, just let me send Kenma home first.”

 _Another clue that I should’ve picked up on,_ Bokuto’s mind automatically supplies.

When Kuroo sees Kenma to his front door, Bokuto purposely lags behind so he doesn’t have to see them being lovey-dovey with each other again and be reminded of how short-sighted and _clueless_ he’s been, and to some extent, to give his friends some privacy.

Kuroo saunters up next to where Bokuto’s leaning against a lamppost, a satisfied grin plastered over his features, and Bokuto doesn’t have to think twice about what has him so happy.

“So, what is it that you wanna talk about? Need some advice?” Kuroo chaffs, “Love advice maybe?”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“No way.” Kuroo’s grin is lost now as a look of doubt takes over. “I was right?”

“I mean, you’re not exactly right, but you’re not wrong either, so the chances that I’m asking you something that has some connections to the idea of love may or may not be likely because the possibility is still there because it’s not _not_ there so mathematically speaking you’re actually right –”

“Dude, you’re rambling and not making any sense.” Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, still in his signature laid-back posture even when he’s preparing for the probable revelation of Bokuto’s antics. “What are you hiding?”

It’s Bokuto’s turn to take up defense.

“ _I’m_ hiding something?” he stabs an index finger onto Kuroo’s chest. “Aren’t _you_ the one who’s hiding something from me?”

Kuroo scoffs, offended, “Excuse me?”

“No, you’re not excused! Why didn’t you tell me that you – that you’re –” Bokuto slides closer, voice dropping to a hiss, “ – _dating Kozume_!”

Kuroo becomes speechless for a while, blinking a few times. Then he looks over to Kozume’s house, before focusing his eyes back to Bokuto.

“Come on, let’s go to the park and talk there.”

Bokuto doesn’t argue.

They sit on the swing set, the chains creaking, the half-moon glowing white over the sandbox.

Bokuto harrumphs, feet digging into the sand and pushing himself into motion.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Bokuto comes to an abrupt stop, holding tight onto the rusty chains, shoes scuffling against the ground. He looks at Kuroo, who’s gazing unseeingly at the empty playground in front of them.

“I just… didn’t really see it as a big deal.”

How can dating your friend not be a big deal?

Bokuto looks at the worn out edges of his sneakers, eyebrows knitted.

“To be fair, I guess it shouldn’t be too surprising?” He scratches his scalp, trying to articulate his thoughts. “I mean, I can only say this because it’s already out there and it made me realize how obvious it should’ve been, but I don’t know –” He pivots his gaze upwards and to Kuroo, “ – I think I’m more upset about how blind I’ve been.”

Kuroo smirks at this, shaking his head. “Well,” he drawls, “You’re not exactly the sharpest knife in the box.”

“Talk about being rude!”

Kuroo snorts, swinging himself back and forth a little.

Bokuto sucks in his twitching lips, tipping his head back in thought.

“Can I ask you something, though?”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know – I just, I’ve always thought that you like girls?”

Kuroo is quiet for a while.

He gives a one-shoulder shrug, lips twisting into a half-smile.

“Girls are great, but I don’t think I want to date them.”

Bokuto casts him an inquiring look.

“So does this mean you like boys?”

  
“It means I like Kenma and I want to date _him_.”

Kuroo turns to look at him, his half-smile cynical.

“Am I even making sense?”

“Well, yeah, I mean.” Bokuto makes a deep hum, the gears in his head whirring, eyebrows inclined together. “I don’t really care if it’s a boy or a girl or neither – if they say they like me then I’d date them! It’s simple enough for me! You should know that, since you’ve seen me date a bunch of them!”

This makes Kuroo chuckle. “True. Even though they’re all short-lived.”

“Hey!”

_I just can’t wrap my head around dating someone who’s always been your friend._

Bokuto returns to staring hard at the ground. His mind skids off to wondering what Akaashi is doing at that moment. If he tells him about all the free food he ate today, maybe he’ll regret not coming to the festival with Bokuto. Serves him right. That’d teach him to never decline Bokuto’s invitations ever again.

“Well then,” Kuroo says, standing up and stretching his arms above his head, long limbs pulled taut. “I better get going. Ma’s going to kick my ass if I get back too late, even though I’m on my break.” He smirks at Bokuto, but his eyes lack any abrasion. “Thanks for today, Bokuto.”

_Thanks for understanding._

Bokuto looks up at him. It takes a while for his signature grin to appear on his face.

“Anytime, my man.”

 

**One-hundred and ninety-five**

 

Bokuto sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor, arms crossed firmly against his chest, glowering at the phone in front of him. He’s supposed to be out for his daily 5 a.m. jog, but his mind is fastened tightly on the fact that Akaashi has yet to send him a text or give him a call to wish him a happy birthday. He fully expects a shower of compliments and well wishes because he’s nineteen now and that’s a very Important age to be but if Akaashi is reluctant to boost his ego then maybe Bokuto can implore him to at least sing him the birthday song. But no, he hasn’t even received so much as a LINE sticker. Akaashi’s forgotten about him. That must be it. There’s no other explanation for Akaashi’s inattentiveness to Bokuto’s big day. This is the end of their friendship. It’s over. Fin. RIP. Now he’ll have to move to –

The screen lights up with Akaashi’s bored face as an upbeat music starts playing and Bokuto snags it from the floor in one swift motion.

“Akaashi!!” he says before Akaashi can get a syllable in, “I knew you wouldn’t let me down!”

_“Bokuto-san, please don’t be so loud in the morning.”_

“Oh!” Bokuto realizes, “It _is_ super early isn’t it! Why are you up!”

 _“Bokuto-san, can you come down and open the front door?”_ Akaashi says instead of answering, which is enough of an indication in itself.

Bokuto bounds down the stairs, loud enough to shake the whole house awake, and flings the front door open, phone still against one ear.

Akaashi cuts the call and keeps his phone in the pocket of his sweater.

“Happy birthday, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s eyes start watering.

“Akaashi!!” He scrubs his eyes against his arms. “I thought you’d forgotten about me!”

“You’ve been bombarding my inbox with not-so-subtle hints about your birthday, Bokuto-san. I doubt anyone could forget.”

“And you’re here before sunrise too!” Bokuto says against a sob, “You must really love me!”

 “Unfortunately.”

Bokuto doesn’t even think about the things he’s blubbering about at that point nor the answers he’s getting in return.

Akaashi inclines his head, examining the dark sky above them.

“Let’s go,” he says simply, cutting his tired eyes back to Bokuto.

Bokuto wipes away the last trail of snot from his face.

“Go where?”

“To get your present.”

A surge of fondness overtakes Bokuto.

“Okay,” he says, a little shakily, trying to quell the urge to throw his arms around Akaashi.

At the same time he asks “Should I get my jacket?”, Akaashi tells him to “Grab your jacket before we leave.”

They look at each other for a moment, before the touch of a smile blooms at the corner of Akaashi’s lips as Bokuto himself laughs.

“Right. I’ll go grab it! Wait right here!”

After he slips on his jacket and closes the door behind him, they walk to the train station. Akaashi says that the trains will start running soon, hands buried in his pockets, nose a slight pink. It’s cold in the early hours of the day, and it’s not even October yet, but Bokuto is just happy that they’re together on his birthday.

They board the first train that pulls up on the tracks, the carriages all empty except for a couple of elderly people. Akaashi seems a little distracted, trying to ward off sleep Bokuto guesses, but he looks more exhausted than he is drowsy.

The cityscape blurs past them and gives way to green paddy fields and eventually, rocky hills that beetle the edges of the sea.

They step off the train and onto the empty platform, and the air is damp and heavy with the smell of sea salt. It energizes Bokuto, who’s swelling with delight and giddy with anticipation.

“The sun is already rising,” Akaashi states calmly, “Let’s hurry.”

His slender fingers, cold and familiar, wrap around Bokuto’s wrist, and Bokuto lets himself be led towards the beach, past the coastlines and up a small, sandy hill. A flock of seagulls billows from the other side of the hill, up and away, and Bokuto and Akaashi stand at the top, the open sea stretched out before them.

“It’s the sea!!” Bokuto hollers, running down the dune, hands thrown up in the air, an open-mouthed grin on his face. The wind nips at his ears and cheeks, but he can taste salt on his tongue and hear the crash of waves around him and he feels so _alive_.

Far ahead of him, the sun rises, over the line of dark blue that marks the eastern horizon, and the grey waters are streaked with soft orange, like a small paintbrush was used to draw the colors on.

“I’m glad we made it in time.”

Bokuto looks to his right, and Akaashi is standing beside him, soft black bangs dancing over his temple and cheekbones. He’s not smiling, but his eyes are tender, and they gradually glisten from a solemn grey into a deep green as the sun ascends and its golden splinters of ray cut across the sea and fall onto Akaashi’s features.

“I’m glad we’re here together,” Bokuto says in return, and his cheeks feel warm.

Akaashi’s gaze drifts from the waves to him. A hand slides out from the pockets of his sweater and up towards Bokuto’s face. He touches a spot right behind Bokuto’s ear, and Bokuto’s scalp tingles.

“I can’t believe you have your hair up like this even though it’s barely 6 in the morning.”

He’s teasing Bokuto in that emotionless tone of his, words blunt.

“I remember how you refused to wash your hair during training camps because you were afraid that you wouldn’t have enough time to style it in the mornings.”

“A – a senpai of mine taught me how to do it in less than 10 minutes,” Bokuto says, fighting the burn in his cheeks, trying to keep still so that Akaashi’s hand will stay where it is. “Y-you can say that I’ve become an even more of a cool guy!”  

“I’m sure you have,” Akaashi remarks plainly.

And then, faster than Bokuto’s ever seen him move before, Akaashi bends down to scoop some water into his palm and splashes it over Bokuto’s face.

This time, he is smiling, lips curled into a provocative smirk.

And then they’re kicking their shoes off and running across the waters, Bokuto trying to catch a hold of Akaashi whose hands are quick to spatter seawater onto Bokuto even as he’s sprinting away. Bokuto doesn’t know how he manages to catch up, but he does it, and wraps his arms around Akaashi’s torso, tugging him closer with much more force than he intended to use. Akaashi’s back slams onto him and then they’re both toppling backwards, crashing into the water in a heap of tangled limbs and drenched clothes.

Akaashi slowly peels himself off Bokuto, not saying a word, and Bokuto starts to get nervous, thinking that Akaashi is definitely mad at him. But then Akaashi’s shoulders tremble, and he’s laughing, hair dripping wet and face pink from exertion, eyes full of mirth, and Bokuto wishes for this to go on forever, for as long as Akaashi allows it.     

Akaashi’s laughter ceases, and his eyes meet Bokuto’s before Bokuto can look away and pretend that he hasn’t been staring. But, he thinks, maybe this isn’t too bad either.

Akaashi lets their gazes lock for a moment, before he looks down, the trace of a smile still present, the tips of his ears ruddy. He stands up, water dripping off his sweater and jeans, offering a hand to Bokuto, who looks up at him for a while longer. Then he smiles to himself, before accepting the proffered hand. 

With their pants rolled up to their calves and their jacket and sweater off, they sit by the shore, just a few feet away from where the white foam of the waves crawl up the sand before ebbing back to sea again. Akaashi has lain out their clothes and socks to dry, staring oppressively down at Bokuto when he said _we should take our pants off too so they can dry faster!!_ until Bokuto looks away in shame and mumbles _okay, maybe not._

Bokuto does what he usually does when he’s with Akaashi; he fills his phone gallery with Akaashi’s pictures, candid or not.

When he tires of this, Bokuto picks up a twig and draws uneven circles on the sand, writing the words _Kou_ and _Kei_ in some of the asymmetrical hearts he’s drawn.

Akaashi stares on ahead of them, at the ocean crests that sparkle under the sun, his toes buried in the sand. In his undershirt, he looks smaller than Bokuto remembers him to be, a bit thinner, even though he’s gained stouter muscles, especially in his arms and legs. Maybe it’s Bokuto who’s grown too fast, too much.

But one thing for sure is that Bokuto’s eyes weren’t deceiving him earlier that morning when they detected the tiredness that clings onto Akaashi’s face and posture.

Bokuto bumps their knees together and says, “You look kinda tired, Akaashi. You okay?”

Akaashi doesn’t flinch or startle, but he doesn’t look at Bokuto when he says, “I’m fine.”

_You’re lying._

Bokuto clears away the drawings with a few sweeps of his foot.

There are a few other people on the beach; an old man walking his dog, a family sitting down for a picnic, a couple holding hands as they walk along the shore.

Bokuto thinks about Kuroo, who had never told him that he’s dating Kozume. Bokuto thinks of the things Akaashi could be hiding from him, of all the secrets that he’d never be able to know because that’s just how Akaashi is. And the only reason he’s been able to realize this is because of _it_. The confession.

_Do you like boys?_

Bokuto holds in his breath, before slowly exhaling.

_Don’t make it weird. Don’t say anything stupid._

Bokuto picks up a handful of sand, the grainy texture chafing against the skin of his palm, and watches as he lets it fall out of his hand. His chest hurts.

Akaashi’s head drops onto his shoulder, hair tickling his jaw. Akaashi is still using the shampoo that smells like plums, and that scent is mingled with the smell of the sea.

“You smell like the sea,” Akaashi says, his voice quiet, as if he’s read Bokuto’s mind.

“Y-you do too!”

Bokuto’s heart hammers against his ribcage, and for a moment he’s scared that Akaashi will comment on it, but he doesn’t. He continues to stare at the sea, his toes in the sand, head on Bokuto’s shoulder.

The ache in Bokuto’s chest recedes, and he closes his eyes to the sound of breaking waves and the smell of plums and saltwater.

 

**Two-hundred and eight**

 

“Well well well, look who it is. If it isn’t Mr. College Volleyball Star himself.”

Bokuto grins, puffing his chest out, hands on his hips.

“Yes, it’s me, the Great Volleyball Star, and I have come to bless you all with my presence!”

Suzumeda jabs him in the stomach with a finger, and he shrieks.

“Suzumeda!! That’s my sensitive spot!!”

“I know. That’s why I did that.”

Bokuto glares at her, and she waves him off.

“Anyway, if you’re looking for our captain, he’s not here. He’s with his classmates.”

She’s chopping up vegetables with a few of the other members, and a girl who Bokuto’s never seen before.

“Ah. This is Chiba Rinka, a first-year,” Suzumeda grins, “My successor.”

The girl has light brown hair braided to the side, and she blushes.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise! I’m Bokuto, the awesome guy who was captain last year!”

“And I’m Akaashi, the guy who had to carry out all your responsibilities as captain.”

Bokuto whips around and sees Akaashi standing behind him with a bored expression, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened, a camera around his neck.

Bokuto grins, “Akaa –”

“Akaashi-san!” Chiba says, beating him to it, “You’re back.”

“For a while,” Akaashi responds, ducking in behind the stall, “How are things here?”

Onaga answers while continuing to stir the yakisoba in a huge wok, “Things are going great!”

“Yeah, things are just as you predicted, Akaashi-senpai!” Sakurai, the ace, chimes in from behind the till.

Akaashi nods. He snaps a few pictures as he makes his rounds, humoring his club members when they strike outlandish poses and ask that he be in the pictures too.

Bokuto smiles, because he’s always, always known that Akaashi would make a great captain.

“Akaashi,” Suzumeda says, “My break starts soon, so…”

“It’s alright, you can go. He’ll be waiting for you, right?”

She punches his shoulder lightly, her cheeks flushed. “I’ll see you guys later then.”

Bokuto cocks his head to the side. “Does Suzumeda have an appointment?”

“Who knows,” Akaashi replies, looking at the pictures in his camera before placing the lens cap back in its place. “If everything is alright, I’ll take my leave and return when it’s time for my shift.”

“Take your time, captain!”

“We’ve got it under control here!”

Akaashi parts them with a small smile, turning away to start walking. Bokuto stares, unsure if he should follow or not.

Akaashi looks over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. “What are you waiting for, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s face breaks into a grin as he runs up to Akaashi.

“Are you done with classes, Bokuto-san?”

“I am! I dashed here as soon as my last class ended!”

“And you have practice today?”

“Later! But even if I’m late, I’ve told them to cover for me!”

Akaashi tucks his hair behind an ear, eyes flickering to the ground for a moment.

“I’m glad you’re getting along well with your teammates.”

Akaashi says this in his default tone of apathy, but there is something about the way his expression changes, just the slightest bit, just for a fraction of a moment, that has Bokuto stopping in his tracks.

Akaashi turns around, a stream of people walking past him like a current. He’s looking at Bokuto, waiting. Something twists inside Bokuto’s gut.

“Akaashi,” he starts, voice tight, “Akaashi, I haven’t cha –”

“Oh, it _is_ Bokuto. Well, no one else in Tokyo has hair like that, so I couldn’t have been wrong anyway.”

Bokuto groans. That drawl, the way each syllable is drawn out, is unmistakable. He turns on his heels, a forced grin on his face.

“Shirofuku.”

“In the flesh.”

“I think that no one else in Japan has hair like that,” Akaashi says, and Shirofuku smiles her lazy smile.

“Akaashi!!” Bokuto cries out.

“Akaashi, it’s always nice when we team up.”

“This is why I don’t want to be with you two at the same time! You always bully me!”

“Take it this way Bokuto-san; no one in the world has hair like yours, so it means that you’re very unique.”

Bokuto’s eyes immediately light up, and he chortles.

“Is that right! It’s right isn’t it! I _am_ unique!!”

Shirofuku shakes her head, her smile still intact. “He’s as simple as always,” she says in a quieter voice. “And you’re as skilled as always in handling him.”

Akaashi sighs. “I doubt that.”

Shirofuku only laughs.

“Shirofuku! Why aren’t you in Kyushu!” Bokuto intercepts.

“I’m only back for a couple of days for my cousin’s wedding, but I thought I’d stop by for the cultural festival,” she drawls, “Also, I wanted to see for myself how wonderfully the captain is faring.” She turns her smile to Akaashi. “A little swallow told me that you’ve gotten very popular, Akaashi.”

“I don’t know what Suzumeda has been telling you, but I don’t think you should wholly believe her words,” Akaashi says drily.

“Listen here Shirofuku, Akaashi is my junior! It’s a given that he’d be popular! He’s the man!”

“Yes yes, how could I have forgotten that he’s your disciple.”

Bokuto nods, satisfied, arms across his chest.

“And you’re not bothered at all by his popularity, Bokuto?”

Bokuto’s head stops bobbing, and he frowns. “What do ya mean?”

“Shirofuku-san,” Akaashi warns.

“Alright alright,” Shirofuku tells Akaashi. She looks at Bokuto and her smile turns a little devious. “Maybe I’ll leave that for you to figure out on your own.”

“I don’t get it, but whatever! Akaashi, let’s go eat!”

“What about you, Shirofuku-san?”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m meeting up with some of my girlfriends. Let’s go out for a meal the next time we meet, Akaashi.”

“Let’s hope it won’t turn out into another eating contest, Shirofuku-san.”

Shirofuku laughs as she leaves them, and Akaashi smiles after her.

“Y’know Akaashi, I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh dear,” Akaashi says flatly, face trained back into aloofness.

“Hear me out! So I’ve been thinking, and I noticed that you smile a lot more with the others! Like even back then, when Konoha or Saru landed great spikes, you’d smile and give them high-fives. Why can’t you do more of that when you’re with me!”

“That’s not true, Bokuto-san. You’re just imagining it.”

Akaashi starts walking, and Bokuto follows, face scrunched up in thought.

“But I was so sure…”

“I’ll buy you some oden.”

Bokuto’s expression instantly changes to one of joy.

“You’re the best, Akaashi!”

 

**Still two-hundred and eight**

 

It’s fun. Being with Akaashi is fun. It doesn’t matter where they are or what they’re doing, but as long as Akaashi is with him, Bokuto would feel like he’s the king of the world.

They explore all the booths and classrooms, trying out different food and playing various games. They visit the weirdly-themed cafes and haunted houses, and watch the plays performed by the drama club and a few other classes, Akaashi’s class included. Apparently, Akaashi had been in charge of the props because he has some experience with amateur film-making, and the job of being the cameraman who needs to record the actual play had also fallen into his hands. Adding to all that is setting up the yakisoba stall with the volleyball team, which leads up to a very exhausted Akaashi.

“Well, it’s my last year of high school. I don’t want to have any regrets,” he tells Bokuto, looking down at the camera in his hands.

  _“I am telling you my feelings so that I wouldn’t regret not doing it.”_

The air between them goes still, while the atmosphere around them continues to bustle with merriment.

They’re sitting at a bench in the courtyard under an oak tree, the leaves just beginning to brown and wither, twirling downwards to the ground around their feet.

Akaashi has set aside his camera, rubbing the base of his left ring finger instead, his gaze directed towards the front and away from Bokuto.

  _“I’ve told you that I like you, and I’m hoping that by doing so, I’d be able to feel less agitated with myself.”_

The wind blows, and a leaf, still green, lands in Akaashi’s hair, soft and irretrievably black, even under the sunlight, like the galaxy.

Bokuto leans closer, hand reaching out to Akaashi.

_Do you still feel the same way about me?_

He picks up the leaf, holding it between his fingers, and lets it fall away in the breeze.

_Do you still refuse to date me, even though you’ve said you like me?_

His fingers brush against the fine threads of Akaashi’s hair, and Akaashi goes still.

_Do you still think that we’re going to drift apart?_

“What is it, Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi doesn’t move to look at him, and his voice is sharp.

Bokuto retracts his hand, as if his fingers were pricked.

“Akaashi! There you are!”

Akaashi stands, hefting his camera over one shoulder.

“What’s wrong, Shimura?”

“Everybody’s looking for you, dude. We’re celebrating the success of our play!”

Shimura, who’s most probably Akaashi’s classmate, holds a hand up for a fist bump, and Akaashi knocks their knuckles together, even though his face remains impassive.

“And I’m also here as a messenger,” Shimura says, eyebrows wriggling. He cups his mouth and whispers something into Akaashi’s ear, leaning close. Bokuto scowls. He doesn’t like this guy.

“Well?” Shimura asks out loud, sneering.

Akaashi doesn’t seem affected at all, and says, “I understand.”

He turns to Bokuto, “It’s time for my shift at the stall. Will you stay for the remainder of the day, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto wills himself to grin his usual grin. “You know I will, Akaashi!”

“I’ll see you later then.” Akaashi then looks at Shimura. “I’ll join you guys after I’m done.”

Shimura waves as Akaashi walks towards the main building.

“Man, what a day!” Shimura plops down beside Bokuto, and Bokuto can’t help but look appalled because _what the heck!! I didn’t even invite him to sit with me!_

“I’m pooped!” Shimura continues, lounging against the backrest, “But look at that Akaashi! He’s as cool as ever, even though he’s crazy busy! And he’s super reliable too!” He grins at Bokuto, “Don’t you agree, senpai?”

Bokuto takes this as a challenge. “Of course! Akaashi is an amazing guy! You’d be stupid not to notice how great he is!”

Shimura nods as if Bokuto has just proclaimed the wisest thing.

“Even senpai can’t stay away right?”

Bokuto flinches.

“I know because I’ve been classmates with Akaashi since our first year. So I know how you always come by our class to see Akaashi and stuff.”

Bokuto realizes that this guy is in the college prep class despite appearing like a noisy and annoying airhead, which means that he might be sharper than he looks.

“Akaashi is great, but you have to admit that he’s pretty cold.”

Bokuto stands, fingers clutched, knuckles white and shaking.

When he speaks next, his voice is guttural, enraged, a sound that he never thought he could make.

“Next time you speak about Akaashi like that, I’ll punch your teeth in.”

Shimura’s grin diminishes, just a bit, and he holds his hands up.

“Whoa there senpai. I’m not bad-mouthing Akaashi, he’s my friend. But I guess I understand why you’re mad.”

Bokuto hates this guy. Absolutely hates him. With a snarl, he turns on his heels and stomps away, hands still crumpled into fists.

“Senpai, where are you going?”

“To see Akaashi!”

“I don’t think that’s a –”

“Leave me alone!”

He’s overreacting, he knows this. But he can’t help it. He can’t stand it when someone so much as talks about Akaashi as if they know him, as if they’ve been in the same team as him, been to training camp and through countless practice sessions with him, seen his half-smiles and unabashed laughter, his cries of triumph, his angry face, his sad face, usually hidden behind his mask of composure.

He needs to see Akaashi.

His feet carry him past different classrooms, and he tramps by all the commotion of the festival without a single glance. He only slows down once he reaches an empty wing in the main building, his flared temper reaching a cooling point.

“ – come on, don’t be so stingy.”

“I’m not going to change my answer.”

Bokuto jolts, almost tripping up the stairs. It’s Akaashi’s voice, and it sounds like he’s standing a few flights above.

“She really likes you, you know? Can’t you just give her your number?”

It’s a girl’s voice, and Bokuto tiptoes up a few steps. He’s not eavesdropping. Definitely not.

“Plus, I’m your classmate. Can’t you help a fellow classmate out?”

_What is this girl talking about? Numbers? Does she need help with her math homework?_

“I’ve already given you my answer, Sasada.”

Bokuto gasps softly. _Akaashi!! You’re not supposed to help another person cheat on their school work!!_

“Okay, how about this; if you won’t give me your number, then give me Bokuto-san’s.”

Bokuto clamps his hands over his mouth when he involuntarily lets out a squeak.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, but knowing him, he must’ve raised an eyebrow, which would be enough to prompt the other person to speak.

“It’s – it’s for myself, not for Ayu. I mean, she likes _you_ , and I – well, I like – ” the girl makes a noise of frustration, “You get it, don’t you?”

Akaashi is silent for a while. When he talks again, his voice is quieter, but more cutting.

“How long have you liked him?”

The girl – Sasada – sounds like she’s hesitating, taken aback by the question.

“Since – since last year. It’s because he keeps coming to our class! And I’ve, um, seen one of your matches from last year, along with Ayu.”

Bokuto’s heart beats wildly in his chest. _They’re talking about me, right?_

“So, what do you say Akaashi? Can you at least give me his number? You still keep in touch with him, don’t you? And I’ve heard that he’s here today.”

The hands over his face press down, shaking, and he doesn’t remove them even though it feels hard to breathe.

“I refuse.”

Bokuto’s heart skips a beat, but the feeling curdling inside his stomach is cold, mirroring Akaashi’s voice.

“Why are you – ”

“As I have said before, if you want someone’s number, you should ask for it yourself.”

Akaashi sounds detached now, indifferent, and the previous coldness that temporarily seized his voice is wiped clean.

“It’s the same in this case. If you wish to have Bokuto-san’s contact information, you should ask him directly.”

Bokuto’s hands drop to his side, and he stares at the ground, his vision blurry around the edges. _What are you saying, Akaashi?_

Sasada scoffs. “I guess I should’ve expected this. It’s just as some of the rumors say.”

Bokuto gulps down the thickness in his throat, withstanding the ache in his chest and the disarray of his thoughts.

“‘Akaashi Keiji is heartless’.”

The statement reverberates through the emptiness inside Bokuto, his mind going stock-still.

_Akaashi Keiji is heartless._

“Then that’s one organ less that I have to worry about,” comes Akaashi’s calm reply, “I’ll take my leave now.”

Bokuto snaps out of it, urging his body to flee. He runs out of the building, past the courtyard and into the mass of people among the rows of stalls, where he slows down, hoping that he can blend into the crowd. For the first time, he wishes that Akaashi would not be able to find him.

  

**The end of two-hundred and eight**

 

“I’m sorry.”

Bokuto trains his eyes to the ground, his voice small.

 _“It’s alright, Bokuto-san,”_ Akaashi’s voice is supposed to be soothing, a low, smooth timbre that anchors Bokuto whenever he strays too far past the boundaries, and a safety net to fall back to if he ever falls. But now hearing Akaashi’s voice is like a hundred pinpricks stabbing his heart.

_“You had practice, and that takes priority.”_

Akaashi is quiet after that, and Bokuto doesn’t know what to say, so he falls silent too, body sagging against the wall from where he’s sitting on the polished gym floor.

“I’m really sorry for leaving without telling you,” Bokuto says again, words almost rolled together in a despondent mumble. But Akaashi gets them, of course he does.

_“You don’t need to apologize. I understand.”_

_No, you don’t_.

_“Bokuto-san.”_

Bokuto feels – he feels. Upset. He’s upset, and he’s not really sure why, but he’s weak, and he loves Akaashi’s voice, even over the phone, and he loves how Akaashi says his name.

_Bokuto-san._

He thinks he wants to see Akaashi, right at that moment, even though his feelings are jumbled up, even though he’s pretty sure that he’s mad at Akaashi. He’s mad that Akaashi didn’t – that he didn’t tell the girl, _Sasada_ , to back away, that Bokuto is his, or that dating Bokuto would only lead to disappointment. He wanted Akaashi to be rattled, to fume with jealousy and anger, to claim Bokuto as his. He wanted –

_“Bokuto-san?”_

“’m here,” he says weakly. _I’m here._

_“Are you still on campus?”_

“Mm. I’m at the gym, but everyone else already left.”

 _“But you’re still there.”_ A not-question.

“I know I know,” Bokuto can’t help but let out a breath of laughter, small and without gusto and very un-Bokuto. “Toriumi-san stayed for an hour of extra practice, but he went home a while ago. Homework and something about his girlfriend I think.”

Akaashi hums. Bokuto closes his eyes. He hears the floating laughter of some students who are walking outside. The bright gym lights stream down on him.

_“You’re very quiet today, Bokuto-san.”_

Bokuto considers putting up a front, raving about his evening in his booming voice and with added sound effects, chuckling proudly after he narrates some of the many amazing feats he’s done, coaxing flat responses from Akaashi. But he knows that Akaashi will see through him, so he doesn’t.

“Bokuto-san.”

Smooth as silk and sharp as a knife.

He opens his eyes. They widen, eyebrows lifted. He drops his phone, and it clatters onto the floor.

“Akaashi.”

 Akaashi pads up to where he is, crouching down and passing his phone back to him.

“You don’t have to be so shocked, Bokuto-san.”

“I don’t – I just thought – huh?”

Akaashi settles down on the floor, putting a plastic bag with something inside it into Bokuto’s hands.  

“We saved some food for you,” he says, casual. “We thought you would stop by the booth again before you leave.”

“Thanks,” Bokuto says through his daze, before he shakes his head, “No, I mean, why are you here, Akaashi?”

With an indifferent face and voice, Akaashi says, “Do you hate that I’m here?”

“No, of course not! I don’t mean it that way!”

“I know you don’t.”

Bokuto narrows his eyes at him, a pout hanging off his lips.

“It was past rush hour, and I don’t have any homework assignments today because of the festival. It seemed like a good opportunity to come visit you.”

“Even though it’s a school night?”

“Even though it’s a school night,” Akaashi confirms.

Bokuto is touched, and he could’ve easily sobbed into his sleeves or fling himself onto Akaashi, but then he remembers that he’s supposed to be upset, so the next course of action that he opts to take is to pull out the container from the plastic bag and eat the yakisoba voraciously. It’s fortunate enough that he even remembers to tear the chopsticks beforehand.

“Bokuto-san, slow down.”

He doesn’t slow down, continuously stuffing his mouth and defiantly munching, until he chokes and coughs out half-chewed noodles onto his shorts and kneepads.

Akaashi passes him an uncapped water bottle, and as he gulps down the drink, Akaashi takes out some moist toilettes and cleans the morsels away, dabbing at Bokuto’s mouth after he finishes the whole bottle. The pinpricks return to plant themselves in Bokuto’s heart.

“You don’t have to do that, Akaashi. I’ve changed now! I remember to bring some tissue with me wherever I go, like you taught me to. Well, _sometimes_ I remember.”

“That’s good, Bokuto-san.”

“Akaashi, I’m serious!”

He has some oil stain on his fingers, so he reflexively wipes them away on his t-shirt.

“I’m a changed man!”

Akaashi takes his hand and wipes the fingers, one by one, meticulous.

“I’m sure you are,” Akaashi says, dispassionate. But then he pauses, studying Bokuto’s hand, their palms warm against each other. “But you haven’t changed that much, have you?” His voice is placid, but it carries a hint of something that’s close to wariness, hopefulness. If Bokuto hadn’t known Akaashi for as long as he did, as _well_ as he did, he would have never even noticed it. He might have forgotten how even Akaashi can be vulnerable, that a human still resides beneath the cool exterior. It really must have been a long day for Akaashi.

“No, I haven’t,” Bokuto says, softly, eyes searching Akaashi’s face for more hints.

_But have you?_

Akaashi still has his head dipped, and Bokuto ducks his head closer, their foreheads almost touching. Akaashi’s eyes are hidden behind the veil of his lashes. Bokuto is so close that can count them, one by one, and he can feel his own breath bouncing off the impeccable bow of Akaashi’s lips.

When Akaashi lifts his gaze up, his eyes are sharp, the brilliant green making Bokuto’s breath hitch and making him back away, pulling his hand from Akaashi’s. It’s like Akaashi has suddenly regained his senses, and his walls are hauled back up, his face unmoved, his eyes impenetrable.

“I think it’s time for us to head back.”

Bokuto doesn’t answer. His lips are quivering from petulance, his fists from rejection, his shoulders from the coldness of the reaction he received. He keeps his head bowed even when they’re walking towards the changing rooms, the tense silence between them palpable, on the verge of snapping like a strained wire.

It completely comes apart the moment they reach the changing room, quiet and deserted except for the vehemence of Bokuto’s voice bouncing off the metal lockers. He doesn’t even realize the words leaving his mouth.

 _I don’t get it,_ he shouts.

Akaashi doesn’t react. He’s standing a few steps ahead, his back to Bokuto. He’s in his track suit, the white Fukurodani Volleyball Club jacket falling seamlessly over the taut line of his shoulders, down to his supple wrists, zipped up to his chin.

_Don’t make it weird. Don’t say anything stupid._

“Akaashi, do you still like me?”

A stupid question. Not what he actually wanted to ask. He shakes his head once, a sharp jerk to the left and to the right.

_Do you like boys?_

There. It’s finally asked, loud and clear.

“Would it make a difference if I did?”

Bokuto’s eyebrows furrow.

Akaashi’s scornful breath of laughter, followed by silence, then a deep sigh – they tug at Bokuto’s heart, prickling him with the early formations of guilt.

“I am not homosexual, Bokuto-san.”

“Then –”                 _how could you have liked me?_

“I don’t feel attraction very often, if at all.”

Bokuto looks at the floor, mouth hitting a hard line.

“Why won’t you turn around and look at me, Akaashi?”

“I thought I made it perfectly clear that I do not want to speak of this matter again.”

Akaashi’s voice is stinging, forbidding.

_We need a new rule, Bokuto-san._

Bokuto should stop. He shouldn’t be pushing his luck.

“But why _don’t_ you want to talk about it!”

He’s done it now. He can’t take it back. He can’t retract the anger in his raised voice, the frustration, the hurt.

“How can you leave it behind you so easily? Isn’t it supposed to be something important, a precious feeling? Aren’t you upset? Why are you being so cold?”

_Akaashi Keiji is heartless._

Akaashi grabs him by the front of his shirt and shoves him against the lockers. They clang loudly behind him, and with his eyes squeezed shut against the impact, Bokuto’s whole body shakes and his mind spins from the clamor of metal. It digs into his back and his shoulder blades, cold and hard.

 _Akaashi Keiji is heartless_. He’s stated this outloud too, without even intending to.

Fury has Akaashi’s eyes burning a bright emerald, the flecks of grey melting like molten steel around the edges, his black pupils constricted, sharp, piercing, unforgiving. His face is still beautifully, irritatingly composed, but there is a severity around his mouth that warns Bokuto not to say any further, as if the intense harshness in his eyes isn’t already enough.

The long, slender fingers that Bokuto knows very well are curled around a fistful of his t-shirt. Akaashi has his other hand wrung too as it stays positioned on his side, the veins electric blue against the pale skin of his limbs. His arm and elbow pin Bokuto against the lockers, and his breathing is even, unlike Bokuto’s.

Bokuto’s chest expands and contracts in the rhythm of his heavy breathing, his heart pounding, eyes wide. His hands are flat against the metal behind him, and his knees are shaking.

Slowly, the fingers loosen, and Akaashi drops his hand. The glare in the green of his eyes begins to fade, but the pupils remain astringed, knife-edged, cutting deep within Bokuto.

“Are you pleased, now that you’ve managed to rile me up?”

Akaashi’s voice is frosty. His anger is cold and sharp and dangerous, like deadly icicles.

He turns, doesn’t wait for Bokuto’s answer. He leaves, bringing his quiet, solid presence away.

Bokuto staggers forward, one step, two steps, before his knees give out and he crumples to the floor, back against the lockers. All the words that he meant to say die in his throat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to extend my apologies to konoha, whose appearance has been postponed yet again because i have no clear game plan whatsoever concerning this story

**Author's Note:**

> come say hello at nakasomethingkun@tumblr


End file.
